To Make Much of Time
by Mundungus42
Summary: When the Ministry meddles in their intimate affairs, Hermione takes her friends into hiding. Severus Snape is charged with finding them, but nothing could prepare him for this... except perhaps reading Hogwarts: an Art History. SSHG, HBP compliant.
1. Chapter 1

This story was written for the winter 2006 round of the SS/HG Gift Exchange on LiveJournal. Averygoodun requested a "Humourous jaunt through a fairytalesque storyline, preferably where Snape is in the "damsel in distress" position and Hermione is the rescuing knight/prince/whatever. Happy ending preferred."

To clarify, the title comes from Robert Herrick's poem "To the Virgins to Make Much of Time." Hiddenhibernian's SSHG story that shares a name with my fic was also named for the poem, but our stories are completely separate entities, and I hope you enjoy both of them.

WARNING: This story contains references to offstage, non-graphic, non-consensual sex. It is not used in erotic context. It is mild enough that I didn't feel the entire story warranted an overall non-con warning, but I also don't wish for anyone to be unpleasantly surprised.

Enormous thanks to Mr. 42, my intrepid, brilliant, beloved beta reader and the moderators at the exchange for their excellent work!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-

I am going to tell you a story. It is a lie, but not all of it is false.

Every story has already been told, some in a thousand different forms. Like many of those stories, this one is a story about magic, villains, and heroes. You will hear about people committing atrocious acts and deeds of great heroism. You may even hear a song. If this is not to your liking, I bid you a good evening and a safe journey to wherever you wander. But if you have the time and the inclination, sit by my fire and I'll try to give you a story about this hero that you haven't heard before.

My story begins not too long ago in a place not terribly far away, when kings were called Ministers of Magic, and Wizards and Witches lived their lives in secret, hidden away from prying eyes. Though the wisdom of the Magical folk gave the Minister his power, it was the wisdom of the Minister that determined those who advised him. And, my friends, I am very sorry to say that this Minister was young and not at all wise, making him easy prey for the ruthless and ambitious.

He was the kind of man that every bureaucracy needs- thorough and attentive to small details, and lacking in imagination. He was swept into office on a wave of sympathy following a great war, in which his father had been killed. The uncharitable might note that it was to the young man's great advantage that he bore his father's surname and an unmistakable family resemblance. It is with this Minister, Percy Weasley by name, that our story begins.

One midnight, there was a soft knock at his door.

"Excuse me, Minister? I was hoping I could speak to you for a teensy moment." The request was followed by a high girlish giggle, the sort of which is merely irritating from a small child and unbearable from anyone past puberty.

The Minister's chair was facing the fire. A mountain of parchment sheets lay at his feet, each covered with scribbles, scratches, and the occasional unobscured word. "Yes, Dolores. What is it?"

The villain of this tale, Senior Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, crept into view, hands folded demurely in front of her. "I'm afraid I have some terrible news, Minister," she said, her fluttery voice at odds with her words. "The band of ex-Death Eaters has struck again."

The Minister removed his horn-rimmed spectacles and massaged the bridge of his nose. "How many dead?"

"None."

He abruptly looked up. "None?" he repeated incredulously. "Then why did you disturb me? You know I have to present my recommendations to the Wizengamot tomorrow morning, and I'm going to have to divert funds from St. Mungo's in order to pay for additional regulatory controls on commercially available cleaning potions, and that will go over like a ton of-"

"None were killed, Minister," she interrupted. "But there were two… casualties. Sisters aged fourteen and seventeen."

"What do you mean, 'casualties?' Were they disfigured or - oh." His face turned bright red, then drained of color. "Not again."

"We won't be able to keep this one out of the paper," said Umbridge. "Too many people know about the others."

"I suppose they wouldn't believe that the Dark Mark in the sky was just Muggle fireworks?"

"Not a second time, no."

"And I suppose they won't believe that it's just a few blokes having a laugh. Boys will be boys, after all."

The Undersecretary blinked hard.

"I suppose you're right," said the Minister. "I don't mean to make light of this tragedy, it's simply horrid."

Dolores's lips twisted upward in what she believed to be a polite simper. "If I may suggest, Minister-"

"It's simply horrid that this band of miscreants had to strike on the very eve of my budget presentation. Why did this have to happen now?"

"Well, if I may say, Minister-"

"We shall have to take decisive action," said the Minister, standing and turning to face her at last. "First of all, I shall decree a nationwide curfew. Anyone caught out after eight o'clock without a Ministry-approved escort-"

The Undersecretary gave a little cough. "Hem, hem!"

"-entering any Magical commercial center, all must go through a Dark Detector, submit to a wand weighing, and undergo a cursory check for unauthorized Portkeys."

Umbridge's cough was a bit sharper. _"Hem, hem!"_

However, the Minister seemed to have a full head of steam. "-powerful barriers must be erected around the Ministry. One can't be too careful, you know-"

The Undersecretary's face was pink from the effort of coughing so emphatically. "HEM! HEM!"

The Minister blinked. "Are you well, Dolores?"

She paused a moment to catch her breath. "Yes, Minister. I was thinking that perhaps we might tackle the problem from a slightly different direction."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see," she gave her signature giggle. "All of the steps you mentioned have already been in place for weeks, but they haven't stopped the attacks."

"Already in place?" he sputtered. "On whose authority?"

Dolores's giggle was a bit shriller this time. "Why Minister, you laid out the plans for me yourself!"

"Yes, but that was ages ago, and I didn't mean for you to implement them, I just meant that we ought to consider them! Really, Dolores, I must protest!"

"Oh, Minister," she simpered, making his title breathy. "I would _never_even think of overstepping the authority you've been so kind to give me. You must admit, I did anticipate your wish to heighten security, did I not?"

The Minister let out a testy sigh. "I suppose so."

"Then we'll not mention it again," she said, beaming at him. "Now about these most recent attacks-"

"Terrible. Simply terrible."

"Terrible, indeed," she said, drumming her fingernails on the Minister's desk. "And you're so right to want to take drastic measures. It's a mark of good leadership."

The Minister smiled and patted her hand in a patronizing way. "Of course it is." His smile quickly faded. "But Dolores, if you've already implemented my contingency security plan, I'll have to come up with something to tell the press tomorrow, and I simply haven't the time!"

"You'll think of something," the Undersecretary declared. "Now, let me see. What have all the recent victims had in common?"

"They're all young ladies," said the Minister.

"Excellent point, Minister."

"Of course! We keep all young ladies under lock and key!"

"I hardly think the young ladies will approve, Minister. And many will be of voting age long before your term is over."

"Oh, yes, I see," said the Minister, loosening his collar.

"What else do they have in common?" prompted Dolores. At his blank stare, she gave another laugh. "My dear Minister, did you notice anything else about them? Their families, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course! They are all from old Pureblooded families! We'll make all Pure-bloods marry Muggle-borns and have children straight off to get their minds off the attacks!"

The Undersecretary blinked hard.

"No, you're right, it's an absurd notion." The Minister sighed and threw himself down in his chair. "What am I going to do?" he moaned. "I wanted this job because I thought I could make the world safer through legislating uniform cauldron-bottom thickness and limiting public access to the Ministry, but now it's just so difficult."

"There, there," said Dolores. "I'm sure you'll hit on a solution. You always do."

The Minister said nothing.

"But if I may be so bold as to suggest something-"

"Yes, yes, anything!"

"You were so clever to notice that all of the girls who were attacked were from Pureblooded families, and it occurred to me that there is a particular virtue that Pureblooded families tend to instill in their daughters that, shall we say, newer elements are less strict about."

The Minister frowned. "You think we should give Muggle-borns lessons in table manners?"

"I meant chastity," said the Undersecretary with thinly veiled impatience.

"My dear Dolores," said the Minister. "If you think for a moment that a few maidenhead-happy criminals are any reason to force anyone to have sex-"

"I don't think it's the Ministry's place to make that decision for them," said Dolores quickly, "but if we were to impress upon them that their virginal state puts them at risk of death or worse and offer a safe, sanitary Ministry solution to the problem, don't you think people would be grateful?"

"What sort of safe, sanitary solution did you have in mind?"

She handed him a bound report. "I took the liberty of drawing up an organizational chart for the new Department of Deflorestation and making a few little recommendations. You'll see on page six that I've outlined all of the positions-"

"Really, Dolores!" said the Minister in scandalized tones.

"I've outlined all the job titles and their responsibilities."

The Minister flipped through the booklet with an incredulous expression. "You can't be serious about this list of –er –Defloristers."

"This list comes from comprehensive research. I accounted for nearly every age, taste, orientation-"

"But Higgenbottom? The man's two hundred if he's a day, and if his heart ever gives out, General Accounting will be in it up to their necks!"

"I thought the young ladies would benefit from his great experience."

"What about Auror Tonks? Her husband would eat anyone that opted to take advantage of her services!"

"Her metamorphmagus abilities would make her a great asset to the department-"

"And most of these people on your list are married. The whole thing couldn't be more likely to sow discord if we had planned it!"

The Undersecretary's eyes darted quickly from side to side. "Now really, Minister," she said in a honeyed voice, "the list of Defloristers is flexible. If you think it would be wiser to exclude married people in the Ministry, I'm sure it's a very good idea, and I will revise the list. Tonight, I'd like you to approve the chain of command. Now, as you see here on page eight-"

She handed him the booklet, and he gazed at the chart.

"Good Lord, Dolores. You've put me at the head."

"Of course, it's only natural that you should oversee the department," she said, batting her eyelashes, "Such a young, handsome Minister. Why, I wouldn't be surprised to come in and find a whole queue of girls waiting for your personal attention."

He blinked in surprise. "Me? A whole queue of girls? Do you really think so?"

"I know so," said the Undersecretary, baring her teeth in a smile.

"Well," said the Minister, preening, "I hadn't considered that."

"Good," said Umbridge with satisfaction, "that settles that. I also took the liberty of preparing a press release for you to read tomorrow. I'll owl the potential Defloristers tonight-" she nodded deferentially, "only the unmarried ones- and give you a rough list before your press conference."

"You're a marvel, Dolores. I have no idea how you do it. Every crisis that comes up, you have a ready solution. Every ex-Death Eater attack, you're at my door five minutes later and always know what to do." He winked at her "Are you certain you're not a Seer?"

She giggled, a brittle sound. "I'm not a Seer, Minister. Let's just say I have a talent for trouble."

"Very good, very good. Now, if that's all you need me for?"

"I just need your signature here and here, and then you can get back to your budget."

The Minister signed with a flourish, then turned back to his parchment.

"You can't be too careful with budgets," he remarked apostrophically, as he often did when speaking of accounting. "You never know when someone will try to slip something by you. Receipts: that's when you get them, especially if their supervisor signs off on it. That's why I fired Larchley last week, you know. Didn't bother to read the fine print on a proposal, and exceeded the Department of Magical Catastrophies budget for potions stores by ten thousand galleons! The devil's in the details, Dolores. Always in the details."

The Undersecretary smiled her shark-like smile, and left the Minister to stew in his own ink.

As she left, she removed a small porcelain figure of a kitten from her pocket, which she tapped with her wand.

When she entered her office, there was a man's head waiting for her in the fireplace.

"You called, Undersecretary?"

"Yes, MacNair. I wanted to congratulate you on an excellent night's work. Two girls in one attack is remarkably efficient."

MacNair preened. "It was all in a night's work."

"You will be compensated. However, I need you and your boys to take a few weeks off. Go on holiday, if you like."

"Why? Are the Aurors getting close?"

The Undersecretary's laugh was shrill. "How could they possibly do that? No, the Minister is taking decisive action on tonight's attacks, so your talents will be required elsewhere."

MacNair licked his lips. "The Department of Deflorestation?"

"Precisely."

"I'll tell the boys they're at liberty."

"You might also let them know we're looking for unmarried Defloristers," said Umbridge, seating herself primly at the desk. "I have a roster to fill by morning. You may go."

But the man's head remained. The Undersecretary looked up from her writing. "What is it, MacNair?"

He looked at her, curiously. "I was just wondering about one thing. If me and the boys aren't out causing a panic, I don't think the public's going to tolerate the Ministry stealing the blooms from their little roses for too long. Eventually, they'll smarten up, get mad, and someone's going to have to pay for it."

Umbridge dotted an "i" with a bit more force than necessary. "I appreciate your concern, MacNair. Should that time come, I suggest you take it up with the head of the department."

MacNair suddenly laughed aloud. "You're setting the Minister up to take the fall," he exclaimed with admiration. "It's inspired!"

She gave him a thin smile. "You're too kind, Walden. You also know what will happen to you if you attempt to cross me."

"You've given me a job that satisfies both my needs and my more unusual wants, Undersecretary. Why would I jeopardize that?"

Umbridge nodded. "Good night, MacNair."

"Good night, Undersecretary."

Allow me to pause in my tale to assure you that not all clever people in government are as horrid as Dolores Umbridge, and not all world leaders are as fluffleheaded as Minister Weasley. If you don't believe me, and I wouldn't blame you, then let me distract you by introducing you to the hero of my story.

She has always been a hero, even more so after the conflict that took the Minister's father, where she stood with the ancient and powerful to defeat the darkest wizard in recent history. At the time of my tale, she has returned to school to sit her N.E.W.T.s and complete her studies. We find Hermione Granger, recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, and winner of Witch Weekly's Wildest Hair Award, in Arithmancy, nearly asleep, face propped on her ink-stained hand.

"Miss Granger?"

Professor Vector's mild inquiry made Hermione snap upright, which sent her inkwell flying in the process. The other students laughed, though Ginny Weasley shot her a sympathetic look. Hermione quickly Evanescoed the mess and met her professor's eye.

"I'm sorry, Professor Vector. I didn't hear the question."

"I think that much is obvious," she replied. "I know this has been a difficult time for you, but if you come to my class this poorly prepared again, I shall have to give you detention."

"But I'm not poorly prepared," Hermione protested. "I finished my essay and I've done all the required and recommended reading. If you'd just repeat the question, I'm sure I'll be able to answer you."

"I don't doubt that you've done the reading, but if you can't stay awake in class, then you are indeed poorly prepared. Consider this a warning. Now, go back to your dormitory and get some sleep."

Red-faced, Hermione gathered her things. "What about tonight's assignment?"

"You are not to work on any assignments or go to the library until after supper," ordered Professor Vector. "You will go to your room, and you will rest until then."

"But-"

"Miss Granger, I'm being more than fair. Leave this class now, or I shall be forced to deduct points"

Chagrined, Hermione nodded mutely and closed the door behind her. She wondered if talking to Professor Flitwick about next week's Charms assignment counted as resting. She shook her head. No, Professor Vector was not one to cross. But to do nothing for four entire hours during the day was tantamount to academic heresy!

On the way to her room, Hermione ran through the schedule she'd prepared for herself that evening. She had planned to work on Charms before supper, but that was out. During supper, she had three chapters of Curses Moste Foul to read for next month's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, immediately after which she had planned to spend the rest of the evening working on an essay for Professor Snape. Well, Professor Snape would have to wait. She was confident that she could put together something interesting on the subject of Billywig stings, even if she waited another night to start on it. Professor Snape had given her the same nearly-perfect-but-not-quite grade on her past five essays, and Hermione was tempted to turn in a few pages of The Hobbit just to see if he even bothered reading her assignments anymore.

Besides, it was her Charms assignment that she was worried about.

Charms was her best subject, but this assignment had already cost her a full night's sleep, and she still hadn't completed the project. The assignment was to create a charm activated by a poem. The style of poem had to be appropriate to the charm, and the rules of the style were to be strictly observed. The upside to such charms was that they could be activated without a wand. The downside was that they were nearly impossible to write if you had a tin ear, which Hermione was dismayed to find she possessed.  
She was attempting to create a high-security locking spell that would allow entry to only one person and keep out Polyjuiced imposters. The theory was sound, she could make it work with an incantation and some complex wand movements, but the heroic couplets she had written not only scanned poorly but also failed to produce the desired result.

She stomped into her room and tossed her knapsack down on her trunk, earning a yowl of protest from Crookshanks, who had been napping at the foot of the bed. She kicked off her shoes and flopped down next to him.

"I'm sorry, boy," she said to the cat, who had curled up next to her. "I didn't mean to startle you. I've been sent to my room until supper, and no homework is allowed." She scrubbed her fingertips into his fluffy fur, and he purred with pleasure.

She relaxed into the soft mattress and realized that Professor Vector had been right to make her sleep. She closed her eyes and sent out silent thanks to her Professor for taking the decision to rest out of her hands. However, her descent into sleep was interrupted by an insistent rapping at the window.

She groaned and sat up. Curious, it wasn't a school owl, and it couldn't be her copy of the Daily Prophet. That had arrived with breakfast, but she had been too tired to read it. She opened the window and accepted the parchment, which was tied with a red ribbon that read "Special Edition" in gold letters.

Her exhaustion evaporated with a jolt of adrenalin. It was either very good news or very bad news. The last time the Prophet had printed a special edition, Harry had defeated Voldemort. Intrigued, she untied the ribbon and read:

_MINISTER UNVEILS ANTI-VIRGIN DEPARTMENT  
By Rita Skeeter_

(London) Minister of Magic Percy Weasley introduced a radical new plan today for fighting the band of ex-Death Eaters who have been responsible for at least seven attacks on young witches to date. However, rather than focusing on catching the criminals, the Minister has chosen to target the potential victims: all virgins. At his mid-day press conference, the Minister outlined the newly formed Department of Deflorestation, a department that exists solely for deflowering virgins in order to shield them from attacks.

As part of the new plan, the Ministry will monitor the whereabouts and behavior of all virgins of childbearing age to prevent them from attacks or from engaging in any rash attempts to shield themselves from harm. Furthermore, all virgins who are not yet of age will be tracked with a Minstry-approved device, which will ensure their safety at all times.

"It's rubbish, that's what I think," said one Ministry official under condition of anonymity. "I'm young, handsome, and single, and I wasn't approached about working for the department. It's politics, pure and simple."

When asked if members of the new department were chosen through cronyism, the Minister bristled, deviating from his prepared statement for the first and only time. "It's not like that at all. The entire purpose of this department is to protect witches. Only a person who hated witches would be against allowing the young ladies a safe environment in which to remove this barrier to their personal safety."

Citing an urgent meeting with the Wizengamot, the Minster surrendered the podium to Senior Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, who gave further details on the department's jurisdiction and duties, which will commence tomorrow morning. The Minister will appear at Hogwarts School to explain the program to the students tonight at seven-thirty.

She skimmed the other articles, including instructions for parents who wished to have their girls "protected," a prudish advice column obviously intended to discourage girls from taking their virginity into their own hands, a series of blurred photographs of the new department's staff, and, in large print, an account of an attack the previous night.

As you can imagine, this was not welcome news to any girl in the Wizarding World, much less to one who had already shouldered burdens that would break many adults. Indeed, one's own sexual history is something the vast majority of people consider to be their own business. Being a clever girl well versed in politics, Hermione knew that the moment a politician declares the sexuality of others germane to public policy, they are trying to divert attention from something they don't want you to know.

She also realized that the Minister of Magic couldn't have come up with the idea on his own. His style was less action, more paperwork. This could only be the work of Dolores Umbridge. I'm sure you all know the story of the first time our hero and villain faced one another. Unfortunately, the villain managed to survive the disastrous Fudge and Scrimgeour administrations. Only those who had been under her beribboned fist at Hogwarts fully understood what she was capable of.

Angered by the return of her old adversary, Hermione crumpled the paper into a tight wad and flung it across the room with all of her strength. It struck a portrait of Elfrida Clagg, whose flock of snidgets flew off in a panic. The portrait's baleful glare rendered Hermione instantly regretful. She approached the portrait to apologize, but stopped short. Her eyes opened wide as a hundred thoughts simultaneously whirled through her mind.

"Merlin," she whispered in an awestruck voice. "It could work."

She ran to her sock drawer to retrieve the fake Galleon she had enchanted in her fifth year. She set the time for the following evening at eight o'clock. That should give her the necessary time to prepare. She only hoped that the Room of Requirement would still be safe, just for tomorrow evening.

When the Galleon warmed to confirm that the message had been sent to the other coins, she slipped it into her pocket. She then sat down and began scribbling furiously in her notebook.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in chapter 1, acknowledgements at end.

Now, if you think that Hermione was angry about the Ministry's new decrees, allow me to introduce Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, who was the primary reason that Umbridge insisted the Minister himself speak to the students about the new Department of Deflorestation.

Indignant fury radiated from the Headmistress as she introduced the Minister to the assembled students. The Minister himself looked unhappy and disheveled, as though his pre-lecture meeting with her had not gone quite as he had wished.

"And so I ask you all to welcome the Minister," she said with nasty emphasis on his title, "with all due respect for his office."

She surrendered her lectern to the Minister with mock-graciousness to sparse applause from the students. The Gryffindor table was deathly silent. Not even the Minister's brother clapped.

The Minister cleared his throat and launched into his speech, never looking up from the parchment upon which it had been written. He nearly choked on his own words lauding the graciousness of the Headmistress and her devotion to the safety of her charges, but quickly returned to his usual monotone.

His speech consisted of the usual nonsense about the necessity of giving up their privacy for their own safety. Every "potential virgin" was to be tested that evening using something euphemistically called the "Honor System." Once the students had been tested, the behavior notification and tracking charms were to be placed on the students to ensure their compliance with the new guidelines. Any attempts to disable or remove the tracking charms would be met with corrective action.

A few minutes into the speech, Ron nudged Hermione with his elbow and slid a piece of parchment over to her. 

_"What is it?"_ he wrote. _"You've got that look again. The one you had right before leading the old toad to the centaurs."_

Hermione snickered. _"Have you noticed,_" she wrote back, _"that he hasn't once said 'witch' or 'girl?' Only 'students,' 'young people,' etc."_

Ron shot her a slightly panicked look. _"What d'you reckon he means?"_

_"We'll see,"_ she wrote back with a grim look. Ron went back to listening with new determination.

Percy droned on, and Hermione marveled at his ability to make even the most salacious subjects boring. Even his fairly comprehensive list of discouraged behaviors provoked little more than dull stares from her classmates, even those savvy enough to know what "pegging" was. Finally, he reached the end of his prepared remarks, and he opened up the floor to questions.

Hermione raised her hand.

"I'll be happy to field the questions for you, Minister," said McGonagall quickly. "Miss Granger?"

"Thank you, Headmistress," said Hermione politely. "Good evening, Minister. I noticed that you said every potential virgin was to be tested. Does that include the males as well as the females?"

The Minister's ears turned scarlet, and Hermione grinned inwardly. "That hadn't originally been the plan," he admitted, "but the Headmistress has pointed out that the Statute of Magical Equality from 1170 precludes legislation on the basis of gender, so we have no choice but to…"

The end of his sentence was drowned out by a roar of protest from the Hogwarts males. McGonagall beamed at Hermione and unsubtly jerked her head toward the house point hourglasses. A generous measure of rubies fell into the bottom of the Gryffindor glass.  
"-so to answer your question," finished the Minister lamely, "yes. Are there any more questions?"

Every hand in the Great Hall shot up.

"Mr. Smith?" prompted the Headmistress with nod of her head at the Hufflepuff hourglass. The yellow gems in the upper half began to buzz around.

Zacharaias caught her eye and nodded. "Minister Weasley, the Prophet's list of Defloristers are all male. Surely you can't expect…" he trailed off and made a demonstrative gesture.

Percy's face turned purple.

Thirty topazes fell into bottom of the Hufflepuff hourglass.

Sadly, the last laugh turned out to be on the Hogwarts students, whose questions kept the Minister busy for nearly two hours. When the Minister finally cottoned on to the fact that the Headmistress was awarding points to everyone who asked him difficult questions, he cut off the question-and-answer session and insisted that he begin testing the students' virginities immediately, starting with the first years.

By the time Hermione's turn came around, it was nearing one in the morning. She had seen her fellow students emerge from the Headmistress's office mortified, and none of them seemed able to give her a hint as to what to expect. Even Ginny had emerged red-faced and shaken her head in response to Hermione's inquisitive look.

"What on earth are they doing in there?" mused Ron. "It can't be that bad if McGonagall knows you're a virgin or not."

"Perhaps they're binding them with a Specific Silence Spell," said Harry. "That would explain Ginny, at least."

It was Ron's turn to flush. "What are you saying?"

Harry blanched in response. "I didn't mean anything about her- well, you know- state," he protested. "I only meant that she would have warned us what was coming if she could have."

Ron's fists relaxed. "Oh."

"Well," cut in Hermione, "I'll do my best to tell you, if I possibly can. Both of you are lucky, never being first in alphabetical order."

Ron rubbed her shoulder sympathetically. "It's just bad luck, there only being three of us in the seventh-plus year."

"It could be worse," Harry agreed quietly. "I overheard Melinda Bobbin say she's already got a letter from her parents. She has an appointment at the Department of Deflorestation next week."

Ron stared at him in astonishment. "Don't they know about Melinda and Blaise Zabini?"

"It doesn't matter," said Hermione grimly. "Her parents are concerned for appearance's sake, regardless of whether or not she's really in danger. I can't imagine she'll be the only one."

Harry shook his head. "It's sick."

Ron was scanning the grainy pictures of the Ministry Defloristers. "Especially when Percy starts to look like a good option."

"I don't understand what this 'Honor System' is," complained Hermione. "If there's a magical method to measure virginity, I've never heard of it. It'd be impossible to validate."

Ron whistled. "Well, I suppose there are some things that can't be found in _Hogwarts, A History._"

Hermione's retort was cut short when the gargoyle in front of the Headmistress's office swung aside, and Peony Zeller emerged, sobbing.

"Hermione Granger?" came the Headmistress's voice.

Hermione squared her shoulders and strode inside with her head held high.

The Headmistress sat at her desk, and Professor Snape stood at her side, looking equally grim. She was furious to see not Percy but Dolores Umbridge standing on the other side of the Headmistress's desk.

"Well, well, if it isn't Hermione Granger. I had _completely_ forgotten you were in school," she said, tone indicating exactly the opposite. "If you will stand here, we'll get on with the examination."

The Undersecretary approached her with a delicate looking silver device, which she held out towards her. It emitted a musical whistle and a small cloud of steam.

Umbridge nodded and turned to Professor Snape. "Not a virgin."

Hermione felt herself turn red. "That's impossible! I-" She clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified.

Umbridge smirked at her. "Well, well. A virgin after all, and subject to the new law. Thank you so much for letting us know." She handed her what appeared to be a silver coin on a chain. "You will wear this amulet at all times-"

"But I'm of age!" Hermione protested.

"Regardless, you are still a student, and according to subparagraph 87, subject to behavior and location tracking. We will know if you meddle with the amulet, and we will know when, where, and with whom you engage in any discouraged activities. I hope that you appreciate the lengths the Ministry has gone for your safety." She flicked her wand at Hermione. "You're dismissed- and be so good as not to mention the test to your friends. Not that you have a choice." She trilled with laughter.

Hermione was livid at the trick. She attempted to meet the eyes of her Professors. McGonagall's lips were pressed tightly together, and she shook her head, warning Hermione against any rash words or actions. Professor Snape was impassive, save for the customary sneer that seemed to be reserved solely for Hermione and her friends.

Sensing that she had lost the first round, Hermione spun on her heel and stalked out of the room.

"Miss Granger," called the Headmistress. Hermione paused to look back at her. "As it is very late, you are excused from all of your classes tomorrow. Please put the time to good use."

Hermione nodded resolutely. She attempted to speak to her friends as she left the room, but Umbridge's spell held firm. All that emerged was a strangled croak. She took her signal Galleon from her pocket and flashed it at Harry and Ron.

They nodded in unison, and Hermione sighed in relief. They would be in the Room of Requirement tomorrow night, at the very least.

The Headmistress's voice came again. "Harry Potter?"

Hermione shot Harry and Ron sympathetic looks and went to her room. She had a lot of work to do for tomorrow evening. Remembering Professor Vector's admonishment, she was determined to catch up on her sleep. She was certain that preparing her plans would be much easier when her mind was at its sharpest.

The next day seemed to pass in a blur. She awoke to Crookshanks purring in her ear at an astonishingly late hour. The rest of the day was spent walking the castle, taking notes at every turn, opening doors she'd never thought to open, and chatting with the paintings. By the time supper rolled around, Hermione's feet and head were aching, but she was far too excited to notice it. She was ready.

At ten minutes to eight o'clock, she quietly entered the Room of Requirement, which greeted her with a number of useful books laid open on the table. At eight sharp, Ginny, Ron, Harry and Luna tumbled through the doorway.

Hermione looked at them in dismay. "Is this all of you?"

"Who else did you invite?" asked Harry.

"It's better if it's just a few of us," said Luna. "I don't want the school at large to know about the missing shipment of kraken tentacles that could have disastrous results if they reached the hands of the Defloristers." 

Ron hid a smile. "So, what have you got for us, Hermione?"

The door of the room swung open again, and Melinda Bobbin stepped hesitantly into the room.

"Oh, hello, Melinda," said Luna cheerfully. "How's the infestation of miniature weasels? You told Professor Sprout they ate your essay on Chinese Chomping Cabbage."

Melinda stared at her and began edging for the door.

"Melinda, really, it's all right," said Hermione, ushering the younger girl into the room and seating her by the fire. "We're all here to help."

"I don't see how you possibly can," said Melinda with a tragic air. "My parents have already had their say. I don't know what you expect to do about it."

"Well, if defeating Voldemort isn't a strong enough credential, fine," said Harry, nettled. "Leave us alone and have some Ministry sod have his way with you."

"I didn't come here tonight to have my face rubbed in this," she said indignantly.

"Then why are you here?" asked Ron.

"She told me she had a way out," said Melinda, pointing at Hermione.

"Well, it's not exactly a way out," said Hermione with a sphinx-like smile. "It's rather a way in."

The others looked at her oddly.

Hermione gazed at each of them in turn with a measuring gaze. "Before we begin, I'd like your word that you won't breathe a word of this if you decide not to participate."

"Participate in what?" Melinda wanted to know.

"Will there be a cursed parchment like last time?" asked Luna hopefully.

"No, I'm willing to trust you," said Hermione.

"Even her?" asked Harry, jerking his head toward Melinda.

"We promise," said Ginny shortly. The others nodded in agreement.

"Well, then," said Hermione. "Imagine, if you will, your parents insist that you must submit yourself in the most intimate way to a Ministry bureaucrat."

Ron closed his eyes. "Is the bureaucrat good-looking?"

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Be serious! Imagine that they will be removing you from Hogwarts for a day in the very near future. You know that the actual state of your virginity is not the issue, only the appearance of it. Now, I ask: what would you do to stop it?"

"Remove the Ministry's tracking amulet and run away," said Harry.

"That would work," said Hermione, "but you'd be breaking the law, your education would be disrupted, and both your status as a virgin and your face would be plastered all over the papers. Any other ideas?"

"If my parents were daft enough to try," said Ginny thoughtfully, "I'd try to make them forget about it somehow, either with a Befuddling Draught or Confundus Charm."

"It's a very good idea," said Hermione, "but I strongly suspect that the Ministry will find out something's up when they follow up with your parents about you missing your appointment. Then you'd still have to deal with a Deflorister as well as a set of angry parents."

"Augurey feathers," said Luna.

The others turned to look at her.

"I'd cover myself with Augurey feathers," said Luna. "Nobody in the Ministry would want to come near me because I'd repel ink, and if there's one thing the Ministry can't do without, it's ink."

"That's quite an idea, Luna," said Hermione tactfully.

"A stupid idea, you mean," said Melinda, flouncing into a chair and crossing her arms petulantly.

"You might try adding something to the conversation other than being snotty," said Harry.

Melinda's eyes narrowed and she pointed at Ginny. "She was the one who implied my parents were daft for trying to protect me! At least mine care enough to provide for me!"

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all flushed scarlet, but Ginny was the fastest.

"If your parents were really concerned about you, they'd bother finding out if you really are a virgin or not before signing you up," snapped Ginny. "They're not protecting you. They're sacrificing you on the altar of appearances."

"That's enough, all of you," said Hermione quietly. "Now, to answer the original question, Melinda is here because we can help, if she wants it." She turned to Melinda, who was unsuccessfully trying to hold back tears. "Do you want to use the Department of Deflorestation's services and make your parents happy?"

Melinda wordlessly shook her head.

"Then we'll help you."

"B-b-but they'll hate me!" Melinda wailed, burying her face in her hands.

Ron, Ginny, and Harry looked at one another, surprised.

"We don't hate you," said Ron, awkwardly patting Melinda's shoulder.

"Not you," said Melinda, irritation cutting through her weeping. "My parents will be furious if I oppose them!"

"If your parents are trying to make you the Ministry's slag, why should you care?" asked Ginny bluntly.

"You can't possibly understand my responsibilities to my family."

"My parents might not own a bunch of overpriced apothecaries," retorted Ginny, "but they raised me to respect myself. If you let them do this to you, you'll resent them for the rest of your life. Is that worth whatever you could possibly inherit?"

Melinda looked to be on the verge of a fresh spate of tears.

"Before you make any decisions," said Hermione quickly, "let me outline my plan. Harry was on to something when he suggested hiding. The difficulty is finding someplace within Hogwarts."

"We can't use the Room of Requirement to hide," said Luna. "Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad found us before."

"True," said Hermione. "So I needed to find someplace unplottable, untrackable, and with an entrance and exit that only we know about."

"There's no such place," scoffed Melinda.

"Where?" asked Ron.

Hermione pointed at a portrait of a sleeping wizard on the wall. "There. Inside the paintings."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in chapter 1, acknowledgements at end.

Some two weeks after testing the Hogwarts students, the Senior Undersecretary was sitting down to a cup of milky tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits when her door swung open. She struggled to her feet.

"Minister! To what do I owe the honor?"

Percy's mouth was a tight line as he slapped the evening edition of the Prophet on her desk. "This is the problem."

Dolores skimmed the front page. "I fail to see anything to be upset about. It's not as if anyone expected the Cannons to do well this season."

"Not that! I meant this!" The Minister tapped an article at the very bottom right of the front page, which was partially obscured by an advertisement for Priam's Peerless Pomade. "What have you to say for yourself?"

The Undersecretary swallowed hard. Some eager new reporter at the Prophet had done his or her homework and had uncovered something that was distinctly not in her plans.

"Surely, this is an exaggeration."

"I wish it were, Dolores, I wish it were. I've been over the reports myself. In the two weeks that the Department of Deflorestation has been open, approximately twenty appointments have been made, but not one young person has appeared for his or her appointment. The families are furious."

A line appeared between the Undersecretary's eyebrows. "The charmed amulets should reveal their location."

"Yes," agreed Percy, taking a large sip of her tea, "they should, but they're not. One moment, they're in Hogwarts, and the next moment they've vanished without a trace."

"What do you mean, 'without a trace?'" asked Dolores, eyes sharp.

"They're simply not traceable," said Percy, sitting across the desk. He seized a biscuit and shoved it into his mouth. "It's as if the amulets simply cease to function."

The Undersecretary bit back a few sharp words. "What steps have been taken to locate them?"

"Everything I can think of," said the Minister heatedly, "but the Headmistress opposes me at every turn. She refused to let my observers into the school. She bullied the governors into passing an ordinance forbidding students to miss classes for their appointments. As it is, the only times we're allowed to bring children here are on weekends and at night after curfew. However, they disappear sometime before curfew and for entire weekends, and we receive no signal from their amulets when they're gone."

"Are they missing classes?" asked the Undersecretary hopefully.

"Not a one," said Percy grimly. "I did manage to check all the students' wands for any suspicious spells, like invisibility, concealment, and traveling spells, but I came up empty-handed. Blast it, the Headmistress has been about as helpful as a first year's Aguamenti in the great London Fire, and we're completely dished if we haven't some answer for the parents!"

"Are they getting outside help?" asked Dolores.

"We've been patrolling the edges of the anti-Apparation barrier since the law was passed," said Percy, sucking sulkily on a piece of shortbread. "If someone has organized a resistance, it's someone inside Hogwarts. All of the likely suspects have been monitored, but we have nothing concrete to base accusations on."

Dolores's mouth flattened into a scarlet slash across her broad face. "Granger," she whispered.

"What?" The Minister's mouth was full.

"Nothing," said the Undersecretary. "I was just thinking that perhaps we might enlist friendlier help at Hogwarts. It seemed to me as if the Headmistress was hardly amenable to the legislation and is therefore unlikely to lend us her best support."

"Damned insubordination."

"Too true," agreed Umbridge. "I will visit Hogwarts myself and see if I cannot find a solution to this problem before this new set of questions reaches a broader audience."

The Minister sighed contentedly. "I knew you'd know what to do, Dolores. You always do."

"Now, if you would be so kind as to authorize this Portkey to the Hogwarts dungeons, I'll be on my way."

The Minister took another sip of tea and blinked heavily. "Yes, of course. Anything you like." He tapped his wand shakily on Dolores's crystal inkwell. "Have a good trip. And don't let that prat Snape talk down to you."

"I don't think you need to worry about that," said Dolores, seizing the inkwell. "Have a restful evening."

Umbridge disappeared in a swirl of light.

Severus Snape was in the middle of grading fourth-year essays when the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic was deposited unceremoniously at his feet.

He glanced down his nose at her as she regained her equilibrium.

"Undersecretary Umbridge. Be so kind as to enlighten me as to what you are doing in my classroom."

"Don't take that tone with me, Snape!" she growled. "I've had enough of your superior airs. What the hell has been going on here?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "I haven't the pleasure of understanding you."

"The defloristees, of course!"

"The lambs to the slaughter? What about them?"

Dolores crossed her arms. "I thought perhaps you could tell me."

"I haven't a thing to tell you," he said. "I have personally counseled four of my Slytherins that it's really for the best."

"You mean that you don't know what that Granger brat is up to?"

"Granger?" Snape smiled thoughtfully. "She's taken on the Department of Deflorestation?"

"Who else would have the brains to hide the defloristees where we can't trace them?"

"I see. And the Headmistress is pleading plausible deniability."

"We've been monitoring her Floo day and night. There's no concrete sign of resistance."

"How difficult for you," commented Snape blandly. "I suppose it's a foregone conclusion that you expect me to investigate on your behalf."

The Undersecreatry smiled at last. "Not if you can name someone else who's keeping you out of Azkaban."

"Really, Dolores. One might think you have an axe to grind."

"Order of Merlin or not, Granger cannot oppose the Ministry so cavalierly."

"I don't think she's being at all cavalier," commented Snape with an amused smirk. "I'm sure she's thought long and hard about it."

"Just get me my answers, Snape," she said through clenched teeth. "And I'll see that Magical Law Enforcement stays off your case for a few more months."

"With such enticement, how can I refuse?"

The Undersecretary's face hardened. "I'll expect a report in three days. See that you have something useful to put into it."

She seized the crystal inkwell and disappeared.

Severus Snape sighed in annoyance and threw a handful of dust into his fire.

"Minerva?" he called. "We need to talk."

The Headmistress's head slid in from the side of the fireplace. She was grinning broadly. "I heard every word. Did she honestly think she could Portkey in here without my knowing? You were marvelous, Severus. It is so good of you to play the double-agent for us again. I haven't had this much fun hoodwinking the Ministry since the Triwizard Tournament of 1932."

"Please tell me you haven't any idea what she's talking about."

Her face became impassive. "What would I know about Miss Granger's activities in the Library?"

"Obviously more than I do, since that foul woman never mentioned the Library."

"Ah."

"'Ah,' indeed," said Snape disapprovingly. "So now we're all under Ministry scrutiny thanks to the rash actions of some petulant teenagers."

"They're hardly children anymore, Severus," chided the Headmistress, not unkindly. "I for one applaud their ingenuity and independence in the face of this utter nonsense."

"Then you know what the girl is up to!"

"Not remotely," said the McGonagall with no small amount of smugness. "Though I suspect Filius might be able to give you a clue if you want to know what kind of magic the students can perform without using their wands. If you want a bone to throw to Dolores, I suggest you install yourself in the Library and wait."

Severus frowned. "Am I never to cease babysitting these infernal brats?"

"Cheer up, Severus," said the Headmistress with a fond smile. "This one may surprise you. I am looking forward to your report immensely." She started whistling an infernally catchy tune and disappeared into the fire.

Severus strode to his quarters and poured himself a generous glass of Scotch.

"Here's to you, Miss Granger," he said, holding the tumbler aloft. "And the devil take your brilliant ideas."

If Severus Snape had to choose a room in Howgarts in which to have a stakeout, it would have been the Library. In spite of this, he was bored out of his skull. There was no sign of Miss Granger, and his patience was wearing thin. He had been lying in wait in an unlit alcove since shortly after supper, and he had already burned through two short novels and a beginner's guide to silver smithing. It was ten minutes until curfew, and the library was so still that he could hear the hissing of the wall torches.

The sound of the great Library doors opening made him start, and it was followed by a flurry of footsteps and whispering voices. They were too far away to be entirely understood, but they were drawing nearer. At last, they passed the aisle in which he stood hidden.

Eureka. Granger, one Hufflepuff, two Ravenclaws, and, indignity of indignities, two of his Slytherins. Her face looked different in the dim light- sharper somehow. Her body was tensed, as if sensing her surroundings. She held the lantern in her right hand, and he was surprised to see an unsheathed sword in her left. What on earth was Granger playing at?

He silently emerged from his hiding place and followed just outside the warm glow of Granger's lantern. He followed them in silence through the stacks, past the Restricted Section, past the Potions books and the Transfiguration tomes, until at last, they came to stop at the end of an aisle of arcane Charms texts. Severus crept down the adjacent row so he could hear them better. He peered through the small space between the top of the books and the next shelf up.

"All right, this is it," he heard Granger say. "Does anybody have any questions?"

The Hufflepuff raised his hand hesitantly. "What if we say it wrong?"

The girl smiled at him. "Then nothing will happen and you'll try it again. Don't worry, you'll do fine. I'll demonstrate and wait for you inside. Do you all have your copies of _Hogwarts: An Art History_?"

The students nodded.

"Good. Then no matter what happens, you'll be able to find your way. I'll go first.

_As children learn in school to open doors  
With passwords or intimidating glares  
So we stand forth to enter into yours  
Not naming Muggle sweets or tick'ling pears._

The entrance that we seek is not a door  
Through which another room is accessed, no-  
We seek to visit those from days of yore,  
And those to left above and right below.

For kindness we are loath to even ask  
Safe passage we will have no guarantee  
And yet we gladly shoulder this dire task  
That in this place we should find liberty.

For as a windowpane admits the sun,  
Shall this thin frame deny the hopes of none."

To Severus's shock, Granger disappeared.

The other children didn't seem terribly surprised. In fact, they were crowded at the end of the aisle, whispering excitingly.

With varying degrees of confidence, each of the children recited the mediocre sonnet, and each of them disappeared in turn. The last, one of his Slytherin fourth years, read haltingly enough that she had to start over. When she disappeared, the parchment from which she had been reading fluttered to the floor.

After listening for a minute or so to make sure he would not be detected, Snape crept to the end of their aisle and retrieved the fallen parchment. He studied the lines in silence for a few minutes before he realized what the poem was. He swore loudly. It was brilliant. She was brilliant, the insolent brat.

He examined the portrait at the end of the aisle. It contained some historic personage or another casting a flashy spell of some sort. Granger and her ducklings were nowhere to be seen; they must have moved on. While the portraits would be safe enough, there were a number of paintings that he would never dare to enter, and he doubted that Granger had the knowledge or strength to be truly safe in a network connected to them. It had always been his responsibility to pluck ungrateful students from danger they didn't comprehend, and this was no exception. He steeled himself and began to read her poem aloud.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer in chapter 1, acknowledgements at end.

Meanwhile, a portrait away, Hermione and William, the elder Slytherin, were waiting for the others to join them.

"The man in that first portrait is a bit batty, isn't he?" whispered William.

"Balfour Blane was a genius at charms," replied Hermione quietly, "but don't mention your house to him. His wife left him for a Slytherin, and he went a bit mad after that."

"Probably a Gryffindor," said Sarah, the elder Ravenclaw, stepping into the frame next to them.

The younger three came tumbling through the frame, landing roughly on the floor.

"Jumping portraits can be disorienting," Hermione said, pulling them to their feet. "If it helps, imagine the frame as the barrier at platform nine and three-quarters. You have to jump through it, but try to keep your balance, because you don't always know exactly what's waiting for you on the other side."

The younger Ravenclaw, Darla, raised her hand. "Balfour Blane said there was a worm here."

Hermione smiled. "In a manner of speaking. But you needn't worry. Look!"

They gazed around the cave, eyes adjusting to the dim red light that suffused their surroundings. Charlie, the Hufflepuff, was the first to comprehend what lay before them and choked in shock. In front of them lay a vast treasure trove: gemstones, precious metals, gold coins, ropes of pearls, silver suits of armor, gold-washed weapons, bolts of silks, and urns filled with fragrant resins. The girls gasped; not because of the riches, but because of the gigantic red and gold dragon sprawled across the cavern, asleep to all appearances.

Sophie, the youngest, squeaked in surprise when the dragon spoke.

"Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?" Tendrils of smoke issued forth from the terrible maw as the monster spoke.

Hermione stepped forward. "You may ask, indeed. I come from a home of teeth as white as bone and stronger than steel. I am neither adult nor child, maid nor damsel, both rebel and patriot."

"It is probably so," said the dragon, "but that is hardly your proper name."

"I am the wrongly accused, unjustly imprisoned, and dead to the world, I rise anew."

"Such pretty titles," began the dragon in a sneer, but paused. He cocked his head to the side, puzzling over this clue. "Oh darn it," he said. "I know this one! The reference is Shakespeare, isn't it?"

Hermione was silent, but a grin began spreading over her face.

"Oh you tricksome girl!" cried the dragon with a laugh. "Hermione, it's you again, isn't it?"

"Guilty," she said, stepping out from the shadows. "I hope you're ready for a good scratch."

"Bless you," said the dragon, rolling on to his back. "It's been bothering me all day."

"I can well imagine," said Hermione, clambering over his gold-crusted belly and up above his left forepaw. There was a bare patch of skin just above the hollow of his left breast. Hermione began to rub at the spot with both hands.

"Oh yes," said the dragon, squirming. "Just a bit higher. Now a bit to the right. That's got it! Now a bit harder! Oh!" With a deafening moan of pleasure, he shuddered into his pile of treasure. "I have no idea how I managed until you came along," he sighed.

"Smaug, I'd like you to meet Charlie, Sarah, Darla, William, and Sophie. Would you mind terribly if I outfitted them from your treasury? We promise to return it."

"Ah," said Smaug, still a bit fuzzy from having been scratched so thoroughly. "What's it good for other than making a pointy bed?" He turned over and went to sleep. By his snores, Hermione knew his slumber to be genuine.

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "What is wrong with him?" she hissed. "Isn't he supposed to be protecting his hoard and devouring maidens or dwarves or something?"

Hermione raised her eyebrow at the younger girl. "Do you want to be devoured?"

"Well, no."

"Then don't complain." She looked fondly at the dragon, whose back leg twitched as he began to dream. "Poor Smaug. It's always the way when mediocre artists take on subjects beyond their skills. They render the subject beautifully in oils, but when it comes time to add the essence of the story, you end up with a Cyclops that exchanges mutton recipes with Odysseus and a Smaug who likes having his soft spot scratched."

Charlie hesitated, then picked up a sword that lay near Smaug's snout. "You mean he really won't mind if we borrow stuff?"

"As long as we return it," said Hermione. "Now, everyone, I want you to find a shield and take it with you. I'll find you weapons. Now, William and Sarah, try these." She handed them a pair of fine bone-handled rapiers. "You're tall enough to be able to use them to good effect. Darla, you ought to take this," she said, handing the young girl a shining scimitar, "and Charlie, you and Sophie take these." She handed them a couple of short swords.

"Oh, Hermione, it's so pretty," commented Sophie, watching the light play off the leaves engraved in her fuller. "I still think yours is the prettiest, though." She gazed wistfully at the red velvet lining Hermione's basket hilt.

"Why is yours bigger than ours?" complained William, gesturing awkwardly with his sword.

Hermione whipped the point of her weapon around the outside of William's blade and knocked it out of his hand with a decisive rap.

"Because, unlike you, I know how to use one of these things. Lesson number one- don't point a sword at anyone you're not trying to threaten or kill." Somewhat discomfited by the looks of awe the children were giving her, she flushed and handed William his weapon. "You might want to find some basic armor. Really, I don't expect we will have to fight anything, but anything silly enough to try might think twice before attacking if we look like we can defend ourselves."

While the others selected bucklers and helms, Hermione pulled on a breastplate, a fine silver helm, some mail gloves, and a pair of greaves.

"Why don't you have a shield?" asked Sophie.

"I'd rather have both hands free," said Hermione, strapping a dirk to her side.

William quirked an eyebrow at her. "Remind me never to challenge you to a duel."

Hermione laughed. "Done. Now, we'd better go before the others at camp start worrying about us. This next jump is tricky because we'll be going upwards instead of to the left or right, but the shoddy perspective in this painting affords us the best jumping-up point that anyone could ask for. Now, who can tell me what we'll encounter?"

Charlie raised his hand and lowered it quickly when he realized it was holding his sword. "According to _Hogwarts: An Art History_, we'll be heading into a painting of Tilly Toke, who saved a bunch of Muggles from being eaten by a rogue Welsh Green."  
"Exactly right," said Hermione, leading the children toward the back of the cave. "So whatever you do, don't mention Smaug. She's still a mite twitchy about dragons. Other than that, there are two other paintings where you need to stay on your toes. If we're lucky, Don Quixote will be off making life difficult for someone else. If he's there, I find that the best way past him is to ask him about his ladylove and then sneak off when he breaks into song. The other painting to watch out for is a group of monks. They may look fat and jolly, but they're very territorial, especially if you get too close to their ale."

Sophie had been consulting _Hogwarts: An Art History_. "Did they really drown babies?"

Hermione shook her head. "St. Feuillien once accidentally dropped a baby into the baptismal font. The baby was fine, but the rumors spread nonetheless. After that, he left the priesthood and founded the Feuillien Order, devoted to prayer, poverty and service through making ale. The artist tried to make them mysterious, but they're really just creepy."

The children followed her deeper into Smaug's portrait until they were at the topmost edge.

"One! Two! Three!"

Over in Balfour Blane's portrait, Snape had the dubious honor of meeting someone whose house prejudices were even stronger than his. Unfortunately for him, Balfour Blane had been in Gryffindor. Blaine commented on Snape's teaching robe, and the moment the word Slytherin had escaped Snape's lips, Blane began casting curses and yelling incoherently. After successfully blocking several not-so-innocent hexes, Snape managed to land a Silencing Charm, which slowed Blane down enough for him to make a break for the portrait frame, presumably in the direction Granger and the children had gone, since Blane's workbench blocked the other side of the portrait. He stepped through the edge of the frame before Blane could hit him with anything nonverbal or experimental.

Snape slid into the shadows of the next portrait with his wand drawn. A giant dragon of an indeterminate breed lay on its back in the center of the painting. He had known of dragons to feign sleep to lure in prey, but he'd never heard of one whose breath whistled in between snores. Thus, he concluded that the dragon was likely asleep in earnest.

Snape began creeping along the front edge of the painting in an attempt to cross without waking the dragon. He studiously ignored the gold and silver, focusing on the far end of the frame. When he was about halfway across the painting, something caught his eye. It was an old and battered sword whose leather-wrapped hilt appeared distinctly worse for wear. It was perhaps the only thing in the entire cave that wasn't polished to a high gleam. If Granger saw the need to carry a sword in addition to her wand, then perhaps he ought to as well.

He pulled the sword from the pile of treasure and attempted to transfigure a scabbard for it from a handkerchief, but the square of linen stubbornly remained a handkerchief. Frowning, he attempted to cast a nonverbal _Lumos_, and was shocked to find that even the simple spell failed much in the same way.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he whispered, waving his wand desperately at a large metal cup. Nothing happened.

He felt a cold weight settle in the pit of his stomach. Magic didn't work here. He set his mind to the task of figuring out why. He quickly concluded that magic worked in Blane's portrait because the subject was casting magic in the portrait. However, he was unable to think of any other portraits for which the same could be said.

Of course, Granger never would have chosen such a public or insane portal to the portrait world without a very good reason. Still, a number of uncharitable names for her sprang to his mind, unbidden. How on earth did the girl think she would be able to protect the children, or even herself, without magic?

A loud groan shocked him back to his senses. The dragon was stirring. Severus gripped the sword under his arm and sprinted toward the far end of the painting. Of course, the sound of someone running across a pile of gold is not a quiet one, and the dragon instantly awoke with a roar.

The last thing Severus saw before leaping through the edge of the portrait was a ball of flame shooting toward him.

Now, when I invited you to join me, I warned you that every story had been told before. In fact, you probably recognize the dragon in the painting as being from a much more famous story, but I'd bet my bouzouki that you've never thought of him as a giant pussycat. The greatest storytellers can tell you tales you heard at your mother's knee, yet make you understand it in a way you never thought of before. I'll consider my job done if my poor story doesn't put you to sleep. And speaking of which, I'd better get back to it.

I hope you won't mind if I neglect Hermione and her charges for a moment. Hermione knows where she's going, and I need Snape to encounter a very important portrait. That, and it's fun to make things difficult for Snape.

Lightly singed for his trouble, Snape landed with a grunt on the stone floor of a small chapel. He leaped to his feet, clutching the hilt of his sword and scanning his surroundings for any sign of life.

It was bitterly cold, midwinter by the angle of the light that streamed through the green glass of the windows, and Snape gratefully warmed himself next to a brazier in the center of the chapel.

From somewhere behind him came the sound of a blade being sharpened against a grindstone. Snape spun around and cast a silent _Lumos_ at the source of the sound. The spell failed, and he swallowed. He haltingly pointed the sword at the dark corner of the chapel.

"Show yourself," he barked.

A giant man, at least twice the size of Hagrid and dressed sumptuously in green and gold armor stepped into the light "God thee mot loke!" he exclaimed with delight. "Iwysse thou art welcom, wylle, to my place, and thou hatz tymed thy trauayl as true mon schulde."

Though he was only able to understand one in every four words, Snape felt that he was being greeted civilly. Still, the giant held a very large axe in his hand, and Snape kept his sword raised.

"Look," he said slowly, enunciating clearly and attempting to communicate through gesture. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just want to cross this painting." 

Though Snape couldn't see the man's face, he was certain he was frowning. "Busk no more debate then I the bede thenne when thou wypped of my hede at a wap one." He pointed to his axe, drew his finger across his neck, and then pointed at Snape.

A sudden sense of déjà vu came over Snape, but he couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd seen the knight before. "I believe you're mistaking me for someone else," he said, attempting again to indicate his words through gesture.

The knight gave up speaking altogether. He pointed at Snape's sword, drew a large circle in the air with his fingers, then pantomimed putting something on his head.

Snape stared at him bewildered.

The green knight tried again. He stuck three fingers in the air, began prancing with a womanish gait, no small feat for a man of his size, waved flirtatiously at Snape and made kissing noises from behind his helm.

"I beg your pardon!"

The knight growled in frustration, and knocked Snape's sword easily to the ground. The knight lay his weapon down and seized Snape's shoulders firmly with one hand. With the other, he yanked open Snape's outer robe. Buttons skittered across the chapel floor, and Snape struggled, but to no avail.

When the great hand reached for his shirt, he closed his eyes, realizing that he had no choice but to accept whatever sordid fate the knight had planned for him. The knight was simply too strong and ripped Snape's shirt open as easily as if it had been onionskin. He felt the cold air hit his bare chest, and gooseflesh rippled across his exposed skin.

He looked up into the impassive and impenetrable helm of his adversary and braced himself. The knight stared at Snape's bare torso and cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Suddenly, a loud voice came from outside. "'Now, sir swete, of steuen mon may the trowe!"

The voice pulled the green knight up short. He glanced from Snape to the outside door through which the voice had come and back again.

The green knight threw back his head and roared with laughter. He attempted to straighten Snape's garments, and returned the sword, as if to apologize. He ushered Snape to edge of the portrait, then opened the chapel door.

"'Gawayn?" he asked.

Upon receiving some answer to the affirmative, the knight began to speak easily to him in incomprehensible verse. 

Humiliated but accountably relieved, Snape made his way to the edge of the portrait and stepped tentatively into the next painting.

Meanwhile, in the next corridor above, the atmosphere in the Merry Men's camp was festive. Venison roasted on spits, ale flowed freely, and Ron, Harry, and several girls were using crusty white bread to demonstrate Quidditch to the denizens of the painting.

"Why is that one worth so many more points?" asked one man in scarlet, who was wrapping the hilt of his sword with a strap of leather.

"Because," said Ron, clumsily juggling the three loaves meant to represent the Quaffle and Bludgers, "it's small, fast, and very hard to catch."

"But why isn't anyone else allowed to catch it?" asked another man, devilishly handsome, who was adroitly tuning a stringed instrument.

"It's completely obvious," explained Melinda, who was nearing the bottom of her ale. "If anyone could catch it, nobody would try to score with the Quaffle."

The friar sitting nearest the fire belched loudly. "Then they should get rid of the quaffle altogether. Let the lads just go after the Snitch. I should think all that extraneous scoring gets tiresome. " His drooping eyelids flew open. "Oh, I say," he sputtered in amusement, "I shall have to confess that one to myself, ha ha!"

Their conversation was interrupted by a deafening yell from the trees.

A cheer went up from the company, and Robin of Loxley stepped into the firelight with a massive hart thrown over his shoulder. This he dropped by the fire and then accepted a wooden mug brimming with beer.

"Evenin', y'all!" he called out. "I surely hope y'all are good and ready for some hearty vic'tuals!"

"Aye!" came the response from his friends.

"What did he say?" whispered Melinda to Ron.

"I think he's offering us some more venison," he whispered back.

"Why can't he speak proper English like everyone else in the painting?" she grumbled.

"You really should read your copy of _Hogwarts: An Art History_," commented Ginny. "Then you'd know that the American artist thought it would be nice to make Robin from a town called Loxley across the pond. Apparently, they speak oddly there."

"And you should really swallow your food before talking," said Harry, ruffling Ginny's hair. "As bad as Ron you are."

Ginny chucked a piece of bread at him, which he caught deftly.

"When is Hermione due back with the new recruits?" asked the handsome musician. "I've added a new verse to her song."

"Now Alan a Dale," chided Robin, "I might start getting' jealous."

"Never fear, Robin," assured Little John, who was shaping a new quarterstaff near the fire. "I don't think Hermione's song will rival the hundreds of songs written about you anytime soon."

"Especially not if she hears you've added more verses," said Ginny. "She was pretty clear that she didn't want to hear anyone singing it."

"Then it's a good thing she's not around to hear it," said Alan with a cheeky grin.

"Well, sir," said Robin, joining his friends by the fire, "I reckon y'all are right. I must've gone soft from having Alan here all to myself for so long. Go ahead on, Alan. Get them pipes o' yourn working."

At Alan's opening strums, conversations around the camp stopped, and everyone crowded around the fire. There were about thirty foresters, all in varying shades of green and brown, and twelve Hogwarts students, many still in their school uniforms.

Alan a Dale looked at his audience and smiled. Several of the girls sighed.

"I am going to sing a song!" he proclaimed, emphasizing his statement with an emphatic strum.

"Yes!" responded his audience in unison.

"It is a lie!"

"Yes!"

"But not all of it is false!"

"Yes!"

Alan strolled around the circle, singing as he played.

_"Oh the Falcon, she's a clever bird  
She graceth our fair skies,  
She saveth all the little chicks  
Whom the fowler doth prize.  
The fowler doth fear her  
Bright beak and sharp claws,  
And dareth not touch them  
On her watch, because:"_

The entire camp joined in for the chorus:

_"O Falcon fine, above us flying,  
Alleviate our ceaseless sighing,  
Set thy sword and scabbard down.  
Between thy wings and claws concealing,  
Beats thy heart, its strength revealing  
Merit worthy of renown."_

The friar raised his flagon, signaling that he wished to take the next verse:

_"Oh the Falcon, she is passing fair,  
With the wit of twenty men.  
I so love a bird that's saucy,  
That surpasseth my own ken.  
But, alas, this Falcon maiden  
Ever flies from my grasp,  
But perhaps she'll leave a chick for me  
In my bosom close to clasp."_

The camp roared its approval, and they raised their mugs of ale and sang the chorus.

_"O Falcon fine, above us flying,  
Alleviate our ceaseless sighing,  
Set thy sword and scabbard down.  
Between thy wings and claws concealing,  
Beats thy heart, its strength revealing  
Merit worthy of renown!"_

The friar's heart-revealing pantomime sent the boys off into gales of laughter. Harry surprised the Hogwarts contingent by standing and adding a verse of his own.

_"Oh the Falcon, she's a friend of mine  
And has been from the start.  
I've long admired her loyalty,  
Her strategies, and smarts.  
But I'll ne'er forget the single time  
She loved a handsome 'prince,'  
Which is why, I dare to prophesy,  
She's avoided them all since."_

Ron's and Ginny's hilarity was lost in the enthusiastic chorus.

_"O Falcon fine, above us flying,  
Alleviate our ceaseless sighing,  
Set thy sword and scabbard down.  
Between thy wings and claws concealing,  
Beats thy heart, its strength-"_

The jolly singing cut off abruptly as the Falcon herself stepped into the circle, followed reluctantly by the five new students.

Her mouth was turned down in disapproval, but her eyes sparkled. She gestured for Alan to play, and, to the company's surprise, began to remove her boots and sing.

_"Oh the Falcon finds it tiresome  
To hear of herself sung.  
She has threatened any doing so  
With pulling out their tongues.  
But she may forget this violence  
When she hears your voices sweet  
So relax, my comely nightingales.  
Will someone rub my feet?"_

There was silence for a moment, as the foresters and students looked at one another, unsure of how serious she was. Finally, the friar stepped forward and wiggled his fingers at her suggestively.

Hermione looked at him incredulously, then burst into merry peals of laughter. Alan brought the others in for the final chorus.

_"O Falcon fine, above us flying,  
Alleviate our ceaseless sighing,  
Set thy sword and scabbard down.  
Between thy wings and claws concealing,  
Beats thy heart, its strength revealing  
Merit worthy of renown!"_

A few of the woodsmen sang a descant line above the chorus, and their final chord rang through the forest, filling all who heard it with pleasure. The group around the fire applauded Alan, and the friar handed him a tall mug of mead. Alan took a deep pull from the mug and launched into a lovely ballad about ploughboys and milkmaids.

Hermione introduced the five newcomers to Robin, who received them with charming, if difficult to understand, hospitality.

"You're welcome to stay by the fire for some music, ale, and venison," said Hermione to the students, "Though I must remind you that you all have classes tomorrow, and you'll be very sorry if we have to carry you."

"Are we going to come here every night?" asked Sarah.

"You may have to," said Hermione, sadly. "If you don't, your appointment will simply be rescheduled."

The younger girl nodded resolutely. Hermione's heart went out to the children, left to the tender mercies of the Ministry Defloristers. Sophie, the youngest, surprised her by wrapping her arms around Hermione in a fierce hug. "It's very strange here," she confided, "and I was a bit frightened at first. But as long as you're nearby, I'm not afraid. You're like Professor Snape. You'll keep us safe."

Hermione felt her throat constrict. "I'll do my best," she said.

When the girls left to go to sleep, Hermione found herself wandering along the front edge of the portrait, gazing out into the corridor where the Sherwood painting hung. She pondered Sophie's words; she'd never thought about what it must be like for the Slytherin students to be under Snape's not inconsiderable protection. She'd only ever pitied them for having to live up to Snape's impossible standards, but the more she thought about it, the more Sophie's statement made sense.

While the Hogwarts students enjoyed the Merry Men's endless supply of hearty food and drink, the object of Hermione's contemplation was cursing her with every step as he plodded through hip-high snowdrifts in the dim light of a single gaslight, which was perched on top of a wrought iron lamp post.

Snape was now utterly convinced of her idiocy in taking children into the portrait world, where he himself had nearly been roasted, beheaded, drowned, frozen, and talked to death by a ballerina-obsessed clown puppet.

He finally reached the far end of the portrait and was surprised to find that a warm breeze flowed through the pines here, and that the pine needles were as soft as fur as he pushed forward into the next painting.

He nearly fainted with relief to see that it was a portrait whose subject and location he knew. Dilys Derwent, renowned healer, looked up from her seat with mild surprise. Her portrait hung on the wall of the Headmistress's office, which Snape could see was empty. The other former Headmasters and Headmistresses were asleep in their frames.

"Oh," she said with a nod of recognition. "You're Severus Snape, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said simply. "And you're Dilys Derwent. You used to be Headmistress. Albus Dumbledore used to ask your advice."

"Dear Albus, he told us all about your adventures," she said with a smile, which faded with her next words. "What brings you to my portrait? Have you died?"

"No, I'm not dead," he said. "I followed a rule-breaker into the portraits, but I can't seem to find her or where she's hiding."

"She?" asked Dilys, interested. "Are you looking for the Falcon?"

"The Falcon?"

"Oh yes!" said Dilys, a girlish gleam coming into her eye. "Songs about her are all over!" She whistled a catchy snatch of tune. "I haven't seen her, obviously, since I can only leave my portrait for the one in St. Mungo's, but sometimes Headmaster Fortescue, whose other portrait hangs in the Library, brings us word."

"You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?"

Dilys shrugged. "Most of the new songs are popularized, so I'm told, in the upstairs corridors, below the landing to the Astronomy Tower. Between Quixote, those stumbling monks, and the Sherwood foresters, it's a regular Music Alley. If I were you, I'd ask the portraits up there."

He was grateful for the concrete suggestion, but too exhausted to be enthusiastic.

Dilys noticed him weaving from side to side where he stood. "I'm sorry, dear boy, you're hurt and tired. Please, lie down and rest. I may not be able to heal in this portrait, but I can at least dress your wounds and let you pass the night uninterrupted. We'll talk more in the morning."

Snape lay down in the bed behind her stool. Dilys bandaged his leg where he'd accidentally stabbed himself with the tip of his sword and tutted over the shoulder that the green knight had wrenched. When she was satisfied that his wounds were stable, she blew out the candle on the table beside his bed.

She sat vigilantly at his side throughout the night, humming softly to herself.


	5. Chapter 5

All of the Hogwarts students in Sherwood Forest were rudely awaken by a loud blast from a hunting horn just outside their tents.

"Rise and shine!" called out their host, cheerfully. "If y'all keep lollygagging 'round in bed, breakfast is gonna walk off without ya!"

Students ranging from bleary-eyed to ale-worn stumbled blindly from their tents. Many of them were emerging from different tents than the ones to which they had been assigned.

"But it's still the middle of the night," protested Darla.

"It's always the middle of the night," said Ginny, kissing Harry fondly, "at least in this painting. See?"

Through the tress, sunlight was clearly visible as it poured in through the corridor windows, though the sky of the painting was still pitch black.

"It's a lovely night, isn't it?" asked Melinda, gazing at the starlit sky overhead.

Ginny sat down hard on the ground by the fire and looked curiously at Melinda. "What put you in such a good mood?"

"Good morning, everyone!" Ron bounded over to fire. "Looking forward to getting back? I know I am!"

Ginny looked from her brother to Melinda, both of whom wore identical contented expressions. She shook her head in disgust. "I'm never asking that question again," she grumbled.

Breakfast consisted of some bacon, eggs, and an oatmeal-like substance that Robin called "grits."

Hermione appeared at the edge of the fire and took inventory of all her charges. "Where are William and Sarah?"

There were a few scattered giggles.

"They were still trying to figure out how to get out of the tent when I saw them last," said Charlie through a mouthful of grits. "I think they were up a bit late last night."

Hermione glanced at her wristwatch. "Well, if they're not here soon, Robin will probably have to play the Wake-Up Song."

"What's the Wake-Up Song?" asked Darla.

As if in answer to her query, a loud, unsteady hunting horn blat came from the woods behind him. The sound was slightly muffled, as if it were being played inside a tent. This was quickly followed by more of the same, a cacophony of pitches so unharmonious and awful that they all knew it to be deliberate.

A few moments after the aural onslaught ceased, William and Sarah, still straightening their uniforms and distinctly out of breath, came crashing out of the forest. Charlie and Sophie began to giggle.

Ginny grinned and held out a steaming wooden bowl of grits. "Care for something hot, William?" she offered.

Snape awoke to the sound of raised voices.

"Shh," whispered Dilys. "Lie still, and don't move."

Snape was surprised to find that his head was bandaged, though he could still see through the thin weave of the bandages.

Outside the portrait, the Headmistress was entertaining the Minister and the Senior Undersecretary, or rather, the Headmistress was serving tea while the Minister and Senior Undersecretary sputtered indignantly

"Are you quite finished?" she asked when they paused for breath.

"You can't possibly expect us to believe that," said the Minister, who recovered his wind more quickly.

"Even if it happens to be the truth?" asked Minerva in the supercilious manner that always set Snape's teeth on edge when it was directed at him. "I assure you, I have no way of tracking the specific location of all the students in this school. Any such magic performed by a sitting Headmistress would be an extreme invasion of privacy and outlawed by the original school charter as put forth by the Hogwarts Founders."

"And we know how well that has worked," said Percy nastily, "and how many of your students have been in mortal peril or died while under your care."

"Unlike other former Headmistresses" said McGonagall, "all casualties that occurred under my tenure have been thoroughly investigated by the Wizengamot. Furthermore, I fail to understand why you are asking me to keep tabs on the students when you have already put tracking devices on them."

"That's really none of your concern," said Umbridge with a trilling laugh. "The Ministry knows best in these situations, and the sooner you realize this, the easier all of our lives will be."

"What do you mean?' asked McGonagall suspiciously.

The Minister and Undersecretary exchanged looks.

"It has not escaped my notice," said the Minister at last, "that the Ministry's education budget has been the same for the past three years. I'm also aware that expenses have gone up, what with the eboncap mushroom shortage driving up the cost of ink."

"Just think," added the Undersecretary, "how grateful the Ministry would be for your cooperation with this. We're not asking you to infringe upon the school's charter, we're simply asking for the benefit of your experience in stopping troublemakers from breaking the rules."

"I beg your pardon," said the Headmistress in tones of the utmost sincerity. "I wasn't aware that any rules had been broken."

The Ministry officials stared at her with unflattering incredulity.

"What about students being out after curfew?" cried the Minister, red-faced.

"None of the faculty patrolling the school have noticed an unusual rise in after-curfew activity. In fact, there have been fewer incidents since the Ministry started the program, for which, I suppose, I should thank you."

"What about failing to appear for a required appointment with the Ministry?" said Umbridge, radiating indignance.

"I must have missed the section of the new law that declared girls who did not wish to take advantage of the Ministry's service would be criminalized."

"That particularly technicality will not be at issue long," said Umbridge in an undertone.

"Tampering with a Ministry-required device!" shouted Percy, with such vehemence that his glasses slid off the end of his nose.

McGonagall smiled warmly. "Now really, Minister. You thoroughly checked the wands of all the students, faculty, and staff at this school. If you had found any sign of anyone having tampered with the tracking amulets, I assume that you would have brought it to my attention before now."

"Your obstinacy has been noted," said Umbridge, scribbling furiously on a steno pad.

"There's no need to cast aspersions, Dolores," said McGonagall. "I will be happy to give the Ministry my best advice."

Percy's surprise quickly faded into a condescending smile. "I knew you'd see reason. Please, tell us what we ought to know."

"I am of the opinion," said the Headmistress with no small edge in her voice, "that you should immediately repeal this universally insulting, unenforceable piece of legislation, disband the impenetrable bureaucracy you have created to manage it, and focus the Ministry's resources on catching criminals, instead of punishing those who have done nothing wrong."

The Minister and Senior Undersecretary stared at her in mute shock.

"Since I have nothing more to say to either of you," said the Headmistress, "I will leave you. Thank you very much for giving up so much of your valuable time." She swept out of the room.

The only sound to be heard was stifled sniggering from the paintings on the wall.

"Brava, Minerva," said Snape in admiration. "Well spoken."

When Hermione and the others clambered down into Smaug's portrait, Hermione immediately realized something was amiss and shushed the others. The air was thick with the smell of brimstone, and Smaug was not lounging in the center of the painting, as was his custom. She gestured for them to remain at the back of the cave. Harry, Ron, and Ginny took up defensive positions in front of the younger students.

Hermione raised her sword and stepped forward. Smaug was lying in wait at the edge of the painting, blocking their exit to Balfour Blane's portrait. His head rested on his forepaws, his back was arched defensively, and his normally wide and friendly eyes were narrowed. This forbidding posture would have sent most people running in the other direction. However, Hermione was not most people.

"Smaug," she said tentatively, "what's wrong?"

"You've returned, thief." Though the dragon's voice was cold, tendrils of smoke curled up from his mouth.

"Don't let's play games. It's Hermione. The students and I are returning what we borrowed, and now we're going to class."

"It is not so," said the dragon, "for you have taken something from me with no intention of returning it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have long wondered about the taste of man," mused the dragon. "I suspect it is far superior to the taste of dwarf."

"Smaug, stop it!" ordered Hermione, sharply. "None of us have taken anything from you. You've seen us come and go dozens of times, and we've never done anything to upset you."

The dragon raised his eye crests, which were the closest thing Smaug had to eyebrows. "Then where's Glamdring?" At Hermione's look of confusion, Smaug snorted derisively. "The man I saw took Glamdring and ran off like a cowardly sneak thief."

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. "You saw a man?"

"Yes, and he had the same inky and book smell you all have."

Hermione's mind reeled. Who could have gotten into the portraits without her help? Could they have been followed? "What did he look like?"

Smaug sighed impatiently, twitching his left shoulder. Hermione suspected he had an itch but was too angry to ask her for a scratch. "All humans look the same," he complained, "especially through heat vapor when you're breathing fire at them. But he was taller than you, with darker fur than you, and he was dressed all in black."

The pieces clicked together in Hermione's brain. Professor Snape was stealthy enough to have followed them without being noticed and certainly clever enough to follow them into the portraits. But why would he have risked the wrath of a dragon to steal a fictional sword? It made no sense.

"Listen, Smaug," said Hermione in her most reasonable voice. "The man who came earlier has no business in the portraits. If I promise to find Glamdring and return it to you, will you let the others out?"

The dragon pretended to admire his claws as he considered her request. "What are you going to do with the thief when you find him?"

Hermione entertained the notion of feeding her obnoxious Potions professor to Smaug, but only for a moment. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I'll try to find out what he's doing here and whether or not he should be here."

"And Glamdring?"

"I'll return it to you," she said with confidence.

"Very well," said Smaug, nodding at the students in the shadows. "You may pass." He lifted his enormous bulk from the edge of the portrait and flopped down disconsolately on top of a large pile of gold.

Hermione turned to her friends, who gazed at her with varying degrees of consternation and worry. "Go on to class," said Hermione. "I'll be fine." She turned to the younger students. "You all have the poem to get out?"

Sophie gulped and raised her hand. Hermione grimaced inwardly. That explained how Professor Snape got into the portrait.

"Never mind," said Melinda impatiently. "You can use mine. I don't need it anymore."

The students removed the armor they had borrowed from Smaug, and William even haltingly thanked the dragon for letting him borrow it. The dragon snorted hot steam from his nose, but he was clearly pleased.

When Ron had helped the last of the students back to the library, he rejoined Hermione in Smaug's cave. "Be careful. You know it makes me nervous when you go gallivanting around in the paintings like this."

"I'm not gallivanting," she protested. "And the paintings aren't that bad. You just need to know a bit about them before you go in."

Ron snorted. "Or have _Hogwarts: An Art History_ memorized cover to cover. Blane says Snape followed you in last night."

"I figured. He probably found Sophie's copy of the poem and used it to get in." 

"What do you think Snape will do about our hiding place?"

"I have no idea, and trying to sort out his loyalties makes my head hurt. Right now, I just need to focus on finding him before he gets into any more trouble."

"The man was a Death Eater and a spy, Hermione. What could he possibly find here that he couldn't handle?'

Hermione looked at him skeptically. "Did Master Blane say anything else about Snape?"

"Now that you mention it, he did rave about what he'd do to Snape if he ever returned to his portrait."

"So immediately upon entering, Professor Snape seriously disturbed two of the paintings whose discretion and cooperation we require for our plan to work. I agree that he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but we're the ones that need to maintain good relationships with the paintings. I need to get him out of here for the paintings' sakes as well as our own."

"Good point. The man could spoil ale with a glare, and that could cause a riot with the monks or the Merry Men. D'you think you could you keep him in the portraits until afternoon Potions classes?"

Hermione grinned at her friend. "I'll see what I can do."

Ron disappeared through the edge of the portrait with a wink.

Hermione climbed up on Smaug, who had rolled on his back.

"All right, Smaug," she said with mock severity, "tell me everything you remember about the man, and which way he went."

"Start scratching," ordered the dragon. "Then I'll talk."


	6. Chapter 6

Snape hadn't realized that he had spoken his pleasure at the Headmistress's coup loudly enough to be heard. However, the Headmistress's gaze snapped to the portraits on her walls. She walked up to them and examined them, Black, Dippett, Fortescue, Everard, and finally Derwent.

McGonagall peered closely at the glowering figure in the back of Dilys Derwent's portrait. "Severus, is that you?"

"Yes, Minerva, it's me. I'm stuck here, no thanks to your prize pupil."

"Nancing Kneazles!" she crowed. "She's hiding them in the paintings! What a master stroke!"

"It's the height of folly," growled Snape. "There's peril in every portrait, and it's all the more so for being unpredictable. I never had less respect for the visual arts than I have right now. Present company excluded," he added hastily at Dilys's frown.

"If it's so dangerous, why would Miss Granger take the students there?"

Snape pretended to think about this. "Recklessness and an inflated sense of her own abilities?"

"I suspect she's found a safe haven somewhere," said the Headmistress thoughtfully. "Perhaps in the seventh floor corridor where all the songs are coming from."

Snape stared at her. "You've heard the songs?"

"The Falcon!" called out Dilys, helpfully.

"I think a cuckoo would be far more appropriate," commented Phineas Nigellus, encapsulating Snape's sentiments perfectly.

Minerva flapped her hand dismissively. "We're straying from the point. How did they get in, Severus?"

"Through a painting of some fool in the Library performing a flashy spell. Miss Granger appears to have put Filius's Poem Charm assignment to practical use."

"That 'fool' is Balfour Blane," said the Headmistress with amusement. "Founder of the Committee on Experimental Charms, and one of Gryffindor's most distinguished alumni."

Snape snorted. "Apparently, the fact that he's a dangerous lunatic didn't make it into the Annals of Gryffindor History."

Minerva chose to ignore this comment in lieu of smirking. "One might ask, if one were so inclined, why you are still in the portraits when it's very nearly time for your Potions class."

Snape felt his face darken. "I have been detained. There seems to be a dragon between me and Blane's portrait."

"Oh, that's easy enough to get around," boomed Fortescue. "Approach from the other side. My portrait connects to the Library, and I can see Blane clearly from where I am. Damned pink light makes it difficult to sleep sometimes."

"Excellent!" said the Headmistress briskly. "I'll cover your classes until lunchtime, Severus. If you're not back by then, I'll send Sir Cadogan to find you."

Snape glared at her and clambered over to Fortescue's portrait.

"Library," he said shortly, by way of greeting.

The fat old wizard frowned at the Headmistress. "It was a sad day when Hogwarts dropped deportment classes," he said disapprovingly. "Dropped it for Muggle Studies or some such nonsense. Dashed Ministry-enforced political correctness."

"Oh yes, Fortescue," commented Everard in plummy tones. "Knowing how to blow one's nose daintily is much more important than communicating with ninety-five percent of the world's population."

"If communication with the vast majority of life forms was of value, we'd all be learning how to talk to insects," countered Fortescue. "Now," he said to Snape. "Just walk back into the portrait, where the parchment color fades into darkness, then bear left. You'll find yourself at the end of an aisle in the Astronomy section."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement and disappeared into the darkness.

Snape groaned when he got his bearings. While it was true that he could clearly see Blane's portrait, it was on the other side of the Library. He would have to traverse at least half its impressive perimeter through at least ten paintings. Further complicating matters was the fact that there were already students bent over their studies at the tables, so he would have to be very careful not to call attention to himself.

The first portrait was empty, to Snape's relief. It was probably visiting friends. He continued on his way though a lovely pastoral scene, where he was completely ignored by a passionate shepherd and his reluctant ladylove. Several of the academic portraits barely raised their eyes from their studies as he passed through their paintings. Snape nearly began to enjoy hopping from world to world. He felt that it was only sensible to have well-behaved portraits in the Library, and he smirked at his good fortune at finding a shortcut back to Blane.

However, as he stepped lightly into the next portrait, he realized how wrong he was. He let out a shout of surprise that produced no sound whatsoever.

A terrible battle raged before him. Men and goblins hacked at one another with swords, warhorses reared and struck with their hooves, and flaming arrows fell from the sky. Goblins with torches were setting fire to barns and shacks, and panicked livestock were stampeding. The confusion was terrible, the violence unspeakable, and it was completely silent.

Severus braced himself, recognizing the scene. He'd managed to step into the worst part of the Goblin Rebellion, when marauding Goblins destroyed a dozen Muggle villages, leaving no survivors. Muggle history attributed it to the Black Plague, but the reality was far more gruesome.

Snape was immediately thrown to the ground as a large man in leather armor fell into him. His Goblin assailant loomed overhead hissing silently in triumph as he raised his sword aloft. The thrust went all the way through the man, and Snape felt the man's body go slack. However, after lying still for a moment, the man rose to his feet, sword raised, and rejoined the fray.

Snape stared, astonished. Nobody was actually dying. Under his gaze, sword wounds closed, severed heads rejoined their bodies, and there was absolutely no blood - none but his, of course. The Goblin had managed to nick his side, and a small scarlet stain had appeared on his tattered shirt.

The swords were real, the fighters' bloodlust was real, and he was in danger for his life.   
He had to get across the painting. He edged his way into the periphery of the battle and raised his sword.

He frowned. The damned thing was glowing. Snape promised never again to take a sword from a dragon's hoard. A goblin ran at him, shrieking silently with his sword raised. He realized that he had a great height advantage and swung the blade with all his strength. It connected with the goblin's side, and it died almost immediately. When he withdrew his weapon, the blade shimmered as brightly as blue flame.

He was buffeted right and left, jostled with elbows, knees, and heads, and he jostled right back, even managing to land a few well-placed kicks on goblins who were drawn to the light of his sword. Arrows whizzed past his face, and the mass of struggling bodies around him was disorienting. He fixed his gaze on the far frame and kept pushing through the melee, blocking the occasional blow with his sword.

When he was about fifteen feet from the portrait's edge, a sharp blow between his shoulder blades sent him sprawling. He rolled over quickly and found himself face to face with a leering goblin, whose teeth were red with blood. Snape swung his sword at the grim rictus in front of him, but the goblin parried his blow easily. Snape scrambled to his feet and began inching backwards toward the safety of the next portrait, but his assailant was having none of that. He lashed out with his leg and swept Snape's feet out from under him. With lightning speed, the goblin's sword was striking downward in what would have been a killing blow if the blow had connected with Snape.

However, the goblin's sword struck steel. Snape looked up and was shocked to see a swordsman in a highly polished suit of armor. The goblin was as surprised as Snape but immediately attacked again, attempting to bind the knight's blade to the ground. The knight quickly disengaged the blade and lunged, forcing the goblin to spring backwards with lightning speed to avoid the knight's attack. Another goblin noticed that his comrade was in peril, and he too charged the knight. This goblin was much less skilled than the other, and the knight quickly ran him through and seized the goblin's sword in his off hand. He fell into a lower stance and pointed both weapons at the first goblin.

The first goblin paused, perhaps realizing that he was outclassed. However, when two other goblins appeared at his side, he was significantly heartened. All three leaped at the knight, swords outstretched and mouths wide open in a silent battle cry. When they were in range, the knight swiveled gracefully and swept his longer blade forward, binding two of the goblin swords on one side while parrying the third goblin with the shorter blade and riposting into the goblin's throat. Snape was relieved that there was no sound. The knight drove the blade into the ground, pinning the goblin there.

The knight released the other two goblins, who began attacking with great ferocity. The knight parried every blow and managed to return a number of attacks, but he was losing ground.

Suddenly, Snape realized that the knight was deliberately giving up ground to get closer to the edge of the portrait. He stood and aimed his sword at any goblins who attempted to attack the knight from behind. Unfortunately, more and more goblins were drawn to Snape's glowing sword, and he and the knight were soon surrounded and unable to move any closer to the picture's frame.

The knight gestured for Snape to duck. He didn't need to be told twice.

When Snape was behind him, the knight threw a mighty blow at the goblins between them and the frame. It was so quick that the blade appeared to be a shining crescent in the air. Three goblins fell to the ground, headless. The knight grabbed Snape's arm, and they both leaped into the next painting.

Snape landed on a warm stone floor, sweaty, bleeding, but alive. The knight lay on his back, also breathing hard.

"Oh!" cried a trilling voice. "What have we here?"

Snape looked up and was astonished to find himself at the feet of a beautiful lady. She held a torch in one hand and her face was a picture of concern. Her cornflower eyes were wide and surrounded by thick lashes, and copious tresses of shining gold fell down her back. Had he not already been out of breath, the lady's loveliness would have taken it away.

The lady, however, only had eyes for his companion.

"Good sir knight," she said in dulcet tones, as she helped him to his feet. "You were so quick to pass through our humble castle just now. Pray assure me that you have returned this time with intent to rest and take advantage of our hospitality?"

A decidedly unchivalrous snort came from the knight's helm. "Sorry, but you're not my type."

The knight's voice was hoarse, but unmistakably female. As if to emphasize this, the knight removed her helm and released a cascade of brown curls.

Granger. Snape managed to keep his jaw from dropping, but only just. The lady was not as self-controlled.

"A woman?" she cried. "How can this be?"

"Two X chromosomes," said Granger, detaching the gorget from her neck.

The lady stared at her horrified. "In this castle, no girl would be allowed to go about with hair so wild, with complexion so oily, or to stand before any man without the benefit of cosmetics and exciting underwear."

"Oh for pity's sake," said Granger, red-faced. "We just came from fighting in the Goblin Rebellion. What do you expect me too look like?"

"I apologize for my uncouth companion," said Snape to the lady. She dimpled at him.

"No apology is needed, good sir," she said. "Any girl who runs about dressed as a boy cannot be held to the standards of behavior and breeding that we expect from the young ladies in this castle. I am only grateful that you were there to save her from her folly."

Granger sputtered indignantly. "_He_ was there to save _me_? Of all the- Oh, bugger it. I'm leaving. I'll be next door when you're finished here, _Professor_."

"You will watch your language," said Snape, voice soft and dangerous. "And you will address me with due respect."

"If I addressed you with due respect, I'd be in even more trouble than I am now," she retorted. She thrust her sword into its scabbard, seized her helm and gorget, and stalked noisily into the next painting. Snape stared after her, highly surprised. Where was the polite and focused student he'd come to tolerate this school year, and who was this frizzy-haired harpy? His mind was quickly occupied with other thoughts.

"Come," said the lady with a soft smile. "You are tired. Rest here for a while. Shall I call the doctors to tend to your wounds?"

"With great regret, I must decline. My charge requires my attention."

"She ought to be punished, that one," said the lady, a small line marring the skin between her golden eyebrows. "She's not too old for a spanking, you know."

Many years of practice allowed Snape to force that thought from his head. "I'll bear it in mind," he lied.

He bowed to the lady and followed Hermione into the next painting.


	7. Chapter 7

The scene he entered was of such surpassing beauty that his encounter in the previous painting was immediately forgotten. He stood on a green hillock, overlooking the most marvelous garden he had ever seen. Streams of the deepest blue wound through groves of trees, bowed and heavy with fruit. In the leafy shade, choirs of birds trilled their songs of praise with joy so palpable that Snape's heart trembled to hear it.

A flash of sunlight caught his eye, and he approached it, smirking to find that it was an armored gauntlet. The chit must have tossed it off in a fit of pique. He followed the trail of discarded pieces of armor, and found the girl sitting beneath an apple tree, freshly scrubbed, attempting to force her fingers through her snarled hair. The sword still hung at her hip, but she looked much more like the student he knew, down to the spit-polished shoes.

He smirked inwardly at the start she gave when he noisily dropped the pieces of her armor that he'd gathered. She forced her features to blandness.

"Finished already, Professor?" she said with false sweetness.

"You have no talent for sarcasm, Miss Granger, and you have a great deal of explaining to do. Where did you come by this armor?"

"Smaug lent it to me."

"And the borrowed skill with weapons?"

She glared at him, but calmed herself before answering. "I have a tutor," she said.

"You don't expect me to believe that your proficiency is a recent acquisition."

"I started fencing when I was eight. The more intensive study started in my third year at Hogwarts."

"With whom?"

"Julie d'Aubigny."

"I know of no one in the school by that name."

"You wouldn't," she said almost in an undertone.

"Explain yourself, Miss Granger."

"Nobody ever notices the paintings," said the girl with feeling. "Nobody realizes that the subjects of the paintings, to varying degrees, are living, sentient beings with minds and feelings. Even the inanimate objects can feel."

Snape just managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "And your point, other than attempting to demonstrate to me how clever you are for hiding here?"

"I was attempting to answer your question, Professor," she said through clenched teeth. "Julie lives in a painting in the Library's Magical History section. We met around Christmas of my third year. She talked to me, we became friends, and said that I should either learn to sing opera or fight with a sword. I had learned a bit of foil before I learned I was a witch, so I chose the sword."

"It's a shame it's been useless until now."

"Oh, not at all, sir," she said earnestly. "Training with Julie improved my dueling immeasurably. I got the idea of starting the D.A. from Julie's training because I knew how much I improved with practice."

"How did she teach you?"

"You know the Fat Lady who hangs over the entrance to Gryffindor Tower? Julie's portrait conceals a salle and training room. She says it dates back to the Goblin Rebellion, when warfare was taught as a subject at Hogwarts. There's a proper strip to work on, and a number of spelled dummies for drilling."

"Did you ever fight a real opponent before your misadventures in the portraits?"

She hesitated "No, but-"

"Have you any idea the danger you were in?"

"The routes I took the students through were designed to be as safe as possible-"

"That's not what I asked," said Snape, sharply.

"I think I've done quite well here, Professor," she said with a scowl. Snape clearly heard her unspoken addendum, "unlike you."

"Listen to me, you arrogant child," he growled. "Regardless of how being the celebrated Falcon has padded your ego, you have put yourself and a number of students in grave danger with this stunt, and I for one will be the first to request your expulsion."

Red spots appeared on her cheeks. "You ungrateful… Would you rather have been left for the goblins?"

Snape felt his voice rise in spite of his attempts to stay calm. "I never would have encountered the goblins if not for you!"

"It's not my fault you didn't bother researching the paintings before you followed me!"

"You were in danger. It is my unfortunate responsibility as a Master of this school to save students from their own foolishness."

"I wasn't in danger before you started stirring up trouble here!" she yelled, abandoning all pretenses at respect for his position. "If you weren't so awful to everyone all the time, you wouldn't be in any danger, either!"

"Your ego has swollen far beyond your reason," he sneered, "otherwise, you might have realized that the safety of others is far more important than your alleged legend."

"It was never about me!" she shouted. "It was about helping everyone who is subject to the new law and doing what's right!"

"I weary of your childish prattle," he said with finality, straightening what remained of his teaching robes. "You will clean up this mess," he nudged her pile of armor with his foot, "and you will follow me."

The statement earned him a venomous glare. Barely managing to hold her tongue, she picked up her armor with what dignity she could muster and marched off to the edge of the painting.

A hissing snicker came from behind Snape. He turned to find himself face to face with an acid green serpent. "Apple?" it offered solicitously.

"You should really offer knowledge to those in need of it."

"I am."

Snape glared at the snake and swept imperiously after his furious student.

In the next painting, Snape found her watching a small tree from which a bunch of deep purple grapes dangled. Beneath the grapes, a handsome red fox gazed hungrily up at them and occasionally jumped to reach them. But every time he jumped, his jaws snapped shut millimeters shy of his goal.

Snape's stomach rumbled. Perhaps he should have taken the serpent's apple after all, as he'd had nothing to eat since yesterday's supper. He approached the tree, grabbed a handful of grapes, and put several into his mouth.

The fox's ears drooped. Hermione frowned at her professor, drew her sword, and slashed the vine, which sent the grapes tumbling to the ground. The fox, hardly believing its good fortune, devoured them with several snaps of its jaws.

Her satisfied smile fell when she saw the look on her Professor's face. 

"You accomplish nothing in this world, girl, don't you know that? The goblins you killed will be back and fighting all the more furiously for having been killed, and the fox will just go back to being hungry and will never be able to reach the grapes. That's the way they've been painted. It doesn't make any difference what you do."

"It makes a difference to me," said Hermione, "because I know that at least I did something about it."

"What good does that do, other than giving you an even more inflated head than usual?"

"Because if others feel the same way and do as I do, then it does make a difference."

"That sounds very much like naiveté."

"It sounds like hope to me."

They walked across the next few portraits in silence.

_Headmistress-_

Miss Granger and I have returned. I am most anxious to speak with you about this morning's activities. Due to an unfortunate misunderstanding with one of your "distinguished alumni," I am currently unable to teach and would be most obliged if you would cover my afternoon Potions classes. I would also be grateful if you could inquire of Filius the countercharm to a spell whose incantation is "Sopranino."

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

That evening found Hermione in the Headmistress's office with Professor Snape, who was in fine glowering form.

"Thank you both for joining me," said the Headmistress. "I trust you will keep this conversation in the strictest of confidence. Just to ensure that we may be perfectly frank, I have cast a Cone of Silence over the area immediately surrounding my desk. Now, Hermione, please start from the beginning."

Hermione told her tale, leaving out, of course, the ridiculous song and the high number of students that by the Ministry's definition would no longer be susceptible to ex-Death Eater attacks. The Headmistress listened gravely and rose to her feet at the story's end.

"Miss Granger, I find myself perplexed. Where on earth did you pick up swordplay?"

"I've been fencing since I was eight."

The Headmistress looked knowingly over her spectacles. "And when did you learn how to fight with a real sword?"

"In my third year," said Hermione.

"I don't suppose the Time Turner assisted you at all in that pursuit, as you were only supposed to use it for academic purposes," said the Headmistress somewhat disapprovingly. "You should know that Professor Snape has asked me to deduct five hundred points from Gryffindor for endangering your fellow students and for blatant disrespect to a teacher."

Hermione's curiosity won out over her annoyance. "Then why doesn't Professor Snape deduct the points?"

"Professor Snape is suffering the after-effects of a curse from Balfour Blane and cannot speak. However, I have assured him that any points he deducts from you I will replace with points for ingenuity and courage in the face of danger. However, this leads me to the crux of the problem. The world inside the paintings is entirely too dangerous for you and the other children. The hardships suffered by Professor Snape demonstrate the peril that you were lucky enough to avoid for so long."

"I don't think it was entirely luck, Headmistress."

"Damn it all!" exclaimed Professor Snape. "You can't find everything in books! What do you think would have happened if that madman Blane had realized that two of the students you introduced him to last night were Slytherins?"

Professor Snape's voice was several octaves above its normal pitch, leaving Hermione with the distinct impression of having been chastised by a five-year-old girl. Both women stared at him, too astonished to laugh.

McGonagall recovered first. "Professor Snape is correct, Miss Granger," she said, with only the barest tremor of laughter in her voice. "I have taken the liberty of donating Balfour Blane's portrait to a museum to be permanently displayed. I'm told it's quite an important piece."

"But what about the girls and boys with appointments with the Ministry?"

"I think most of the parents have realized that their children meant business when they repeatedly broke their appointments. Things should be well until we're able to present our appeal to the Wizengamot next week."

"But in the meantime, how can we be sure?" pressed Hermione. "There must be something we can do to protect them."

"Miss Granger, I assure you that everything that can be done has been," said the Headmistress. "Short of getting rid of Dolores Umbridge." She gave short laugh, then busied herself warming a pot of tea.

It was then that Hermione had another idea. The Headmistress's attention was on preparing the tea, but Snape saw inspiration blaze across Hermione's face like a shooting star. An instant later, her face fell, only to light up again as she met Professor Snape's gaze and willed him to understand. She nodded toward the portrait of Everard on the Headmistress's wall while the Headmistress was pouring the tea.

If Professor Snape understood her plan, he gave no sign of it.

"You know, Miss Granger," mused the Headmistress, passing Hermione a steaming cup. "If you and your friends are still entertaining notions of Auror training, you do realize you'd be Ministry employees and responsible for enforcing their laws."

"That, and the three of us are over-qualified, now," said Hermione, just managing to keep a straight face.

The Headmistress snorted. "In all seriousness, my dear, I wondered if you'd ever considered working for Hogwarts in some capacity after you sit your N.E.W.T.s."

Hermione blushed. "I have no practical experience."

"Perhaps not, but you're imaginative, ruthless, and pay close attention to details, attributes I need for this particular position."

"You make it sound like you're hiring her as an assassin, Minerva," commented Snape as dryly as his tiny voice allowed.

"Only in a manner of speaking," said the Headmistress cryptically, sipping her tea. "And if we're all finished tonight, you may go, Miss Granger. Please think about what I've said."

With a final significant look at Professor Snape, Hermione took her leave.

_Please, Professor Snape,_ she begged him mentally. _The Headmistress will be watching me, but she won't be expecting it from you. I know you can find a way._

Snape would have understood her entreaty even had he not been using Legilimency, which of course he was. He belatedly realized that the Headmistress was speaking.

"-naturally, it was. Severus?"

"I beg your pardon, Minerva," he said. "I seem to be over-tired today."

"Yes," she said, amused. "I suspect you have to use a lot more lung pressure to keep your pitch up."

He scowled and was about to deliver a scathing comment but refrained, partially because he would have sounded like a petulant child, and partially because he needed a favor.

The Headmistress noticed his reserve. "What do you want, Severus?"

"I wondered if I might have a private audience with Albus this evening."

"I already asked him if he knew an answer for your vocal problem."

"I wish to discuss something of a more private nature. I don't mean to ask you to leave…" he trailed off, because that was exactly what he was proposing to do.

The Headmistress sighed and got to her feet. "I think I've gone entirely too soft. However, I haven't anywhere near the energy tonight to fight it."

"I suspect you have to use a lot more mental pressure to keep your façade of respectability up," commented Snape.

"We'll see who gets a more respectful reception tomorrow during your Potions classes," said Minerva snidely, shutting the door behind her.

Snape walked to the back corner of the office to the cabinet where Dumbledore's Pensieve once sat. Dumbledore's portrait hung directly over it. Snape suspected the old man was feigning sleep from the way the corners of his mouth were slightly tensed.

"Dissembler."

Dumbledore's blue eyes opened, brimming with mirth. "Severus, it's good to hear from you."

Snape frowned "Highly amusing, I'm sure. I don't suppose you know the countercharm to this blasted spell?"

"I'm afraid not, dear boy. Now, for what reason did you send poor Minerva off?"

"I'm being sent on a mission by one of your lionesses and I require your assistance."

"How interesting. Minerva mentioned no mission to me."

"No, Minerva has no idea what's about to happen, with your cooperation, of course."

Dumbledore's brow wrinkled in confusion. "From whom are you taking orders?"

"The Falcon herself. And she's hasn't ordered me. It's far worse than that."

"She's not blackmailinging you."

"Worse- she appealed to my better nature. I didn't think it existed anymore."

A smile lit the former Headmaster's eyes. "Bless me, it's happened at last," he said softly. "Now," he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "what can I do to help you and your bird? I mean, Miss Granger."

"I need a way into the portraits, Albus."

"Minerva assures me that Blane's portrait, the only way in, has been removed."

"I don't believe it's the only way in," said Snape, voicing his suspicions at last. "I believe there is another portrait in Hogwarts that is far more imbued with magic than Blane's puny pink charm, and I believe it's right in front of me."

The former Headmaster was giving nothing away. "What makes you think that?"

"You're no longer Headmaster, yet you still know everything that's going on. The Cone of Silence is one of Minerva's specialties, yet you manage to hear everything regardless."

Dumbledore sighed. "You could have just recited the poem. It would have worked without my permission."

The corner of Snape's mouth lifted slightly. "Only a fool would attempt to enter an unfriendly portrait more than once."

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Then welcome. It's been far too long since I had any company."

Snape's eyes stung uncharacteristically while enfolded in the fond embrace of his late mentor.


	8. Chapter 8

When Snape and Dumbledore had composed themselves once more, Snape bade him farewell and made his way across Minerva's office, ignoring Phineas Nigellus and tolerating a fond embrace from Dilys Derwent, who was delighted to see him well, squeaky voice notwithstanding. He summarized his adventures in the library for an appreciative Fortescue, and finally made his way to Everard's portrait.

"Excuse me, Everard?"

The older wizard regarded him with a steely gaze. "How may I be of service?"

"I wish to enter the Ministry of Magic. Would you give me directions?"

"Well, that depends. Having been Minister of Magic, I don't take kindly to blackmail or any such activity. I'm afraid I can't let you through if you intend mischief."

"I am not attempting to inflict anything unpleasant on the Minister of Magic. In fact, I am highly suspicious that his Senior Undersecretary may be involved in nefarious activity, or at the very least, is advising him very poorly."

"Oh, you're after the old toad!" exclaimed Everard. "By all means, my boy, by all means! I've hated that woman for years, ever since seeing her sully the Headmistress's chair. Walk straight back into the portrait. When the light disappears, bear right. My portrait hangs outside the Minister's office, and the Senior Undersecretary's office is just down the hall. Go with my blessing!"

Everard's portrait hung in a corridor lined with paintings of all the other Ministers of Magic. The few Ministers not visiting other locations appeared to be asleep. It was silent but for the portraits' snoring. A door, presumably Umbridge's, was open a crack, and light fell across the floor. Good, she was still at work.

Taking great care not to make any noise, Snape stepped into the portrait of Clara Banderouge, who had been Everard's immediate predecessor. She was fast asleep, and Snape held his breath as he sidled past her. The next frame was empty. Apparently Oscar Duffie had other places to be.

His heart leaped into his throat as a door to the left opened and Minister Weasley came out into the hallway. Snape immediately froze and put his head forward to conceal his face with his hair and give the impression that he was asleep. The Minister never even looked at the wall and made a beeline for Umbridge's office. To Snape's dismay, he closed the door after him.

Snape quickly made his way through the other portraits until he was at the one next to Umbridge's door. He had leapt across frames into portraits that hung next to one another, but could he go through walls? And would there be anywhere to hide in whatever portraits graced that awful woman's walls?

Hermione's entreaty repeated itself in his head. He took a deep breath and walked straight back into the darkness of the portrait.

He was suddenly thrust into a light so artificial and piercing that he couldn't see. Blinded, he stumbled and his toe caught on something hard. He went sprawling to the ground, which was somewhat soft and covered in thick grass. As eyes adjusted to the stark light, he began to realize that he was in no danger of being seen. He had tripped on a cobblestone in a garden path, and had fallen behind a great wall of flowers. Behind him was some romantic's imagining of a cottage- it was lightly blurred, as was the smoke that trickled up into the sky, blinding with what the painter obviously supposed was morning light. 

Fortunately, the artist had not painted any singing birds, so Snape could hear the Minister and Senior Undersecretary speaking in low voices. Eyes still watering from the sudden assault, Snape crept along the wall of flowers until he reached a blossom-crusted arbor, and peering around it, he could see them clearly as they bent over a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. He also saw about a dozen kittens frolicking on the grass in front of the arch.

Snape rolled his eyes and began to eavesdrop, or rather, arbordrop, in earnest.

"-and that's why, I'm afraid, I haven't received a definite answer from Hogwarts yet," finished Umbridge in regretful tones.

"It doesn't matter, Dolores, because I've solved our problem," said the Minister, mouth drawn into a self-satisfied smile.

"You mean someone in your department has successfully managed to be with a girl?" asked the Senior Undersecretary in tones of incredulity.

"Even better. I have finally found a way to make this disaster appear to be a success."

"How?" asked the Undersecretary, with undisguised scorn. "The girls have evaded our best efforts to protect them, and now the papers are printing rumors of a resistance leader called the Falcon. How can anything you say convince the populace that the Department is a success?"

"You may have forgotten the _raison d'etre_ for the Department of Deflorestation, but I haven't," said the Minister. "Since the founding of the Department of Deflorestation, there have been no rogue Death Eater attacks. If I point this out, then nobody can possibly argue that the Department is useless. At the very least, it's a strong deterrent to these monsters. That, my dear Dolores, is how I will turn this to our advantage."

The Undersecretary stared at the Minister as if she'd never seen him before. "I hadn't considered that," she said simply.

The Minister patted her on top of her beribboned head. "That is why I'm Minister of Magic," he said. "I'll leave you to prepare the press release for tomorrow. I need some sleep. Good night, Dolores."

"Good night, Minister."

When the door had closed behind him, she locked it with a wave of her hand and cast a strong Silencing Charm to prevent listening at her door. She removed the porcelain kitten from her pocket and tapped it with her wand.

When MacNair appeared in the flames, she stood.

"There's been a change in plan." Her voice was devoid of its usual flutter.

MacNair leered. "Excellent. We haven't deflowered so much as a dead chrysanthemum, and I've waited long enough."

"The fool has actually come up with a fair idea, and he has no clue that it's going to be the noose that hangs him. Any time after the Minister's press release tomorrow, do your job. I don't care when, but make sure it's one of these." She sent a piece of parchment flying toward the fireplace.

As he read the list, MacNair's licked his lips. "They're all young."

"That's part of the challenge," said Umbridge, unsmiling. "They're all at Hogwarts. However, the holidays are coming up, and that old crone can't protect them once they leave. Choose your opportunity carefully, and you will be rewarded for aiming high."

"How high?"

"If you can get Granger, I'll not only keep you out of Azkaban, I'll be sure that your Disposal Squad gets a ten percent increase in its annual budget for 'administrative costs.'"

A bead of spittle rolled out of the corner of MacNair's mouth. "I've wanted to get my hands on that one for years," he said, "but she's always too well protected."

"Well, if she's out of your league, then attend to the list."

"Consider it done," said MacNair. "I'll inform the boys."

"Enjoy yourselves," said Umbridge, "especially if it's that scrubby Mudblood." 

When MacNair's head had disappeared from her fire, Umbridge sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile. She dipped her quill in her inkwell and wrote "Minister of Magic, Dolores Jane Umbridge," several times in flowery script.

With a giggle, she Vanished the parchment, pulled the pre-prepared press release from her drawer and left, setting powerful wards behind her.

On the wall behind her, Severus Snape was shaking with fury.

Suddenly, MacNair's head appear in the flames once again. "Undersecretary?" he called.

Snape seized his chance, inwardly thanking Balfour Blaine for his new voice. _"Hem, Hem!_" he called out. "What is it MacNair?"

"Where are you?" he asked suspiciously, glancing around the room.

"I'm under the desk," said Snape. "I've dropped a biscuit and don't want it to go to waste. What do you want?"

"I was just wondering if you'd be willing to make the same offer for any of Granger's friends?"

He didn't have to feign the calumny in his voice. "If you think you can take Harry bloody Potter, by all means. That boy has been a thorn in my side since he was eleven years old!"

MacNair grimaced. "I don't do buggery," he growled.

Snape played a strong hunch. "Then it's good that Lucius is in your little group."

MacNair's eyes opened wide. "How did you know?"

"It is my business to know," he said smugly. "When you've done for me, oh dear, how many jobs is it now?"

"Six," said MacNair proudly, "counting that one where we got two sisters."

"Yes, of course, how silly of me," he said with a laugh that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, even to his own ears. "As I was saying, we've worked together for so long. We really should have no secrets from one another. Now, if your question has been answered, please leave and do not show up here unasked for again. I might have had company."

"Yes, Undersecretary. I look forward to giving you some spectacular headlines."

MacNair dissolved into embers once again, until the only other sound was the playful mewling of the kittens in the cottage painting. Snape turned on his heel and strode back to the cottage. He had to find Minerva.

The next day at breakfast, all of the students were surprised when the Headmistress stood and raised her hands for silence.

"Good morning, everybody," she said, voice grim.

Hermione noticed dark circles under the Headmistress's eyes and was curious what it meant. A quick glance down the faculty table informed her that Professor Snape and the other Heads of House were in the same condition.

"I know that all of you have been under a great deal of pressure from the new laws by the Ministry and dealing with your families' wishes," she said. "Thus, it is with great pleasure that I announce an opportunity for everyone to," she pursed her lips, "let their hair down. It is my distinct pleasure to announce that we will be holding Hogwarts' first ever public Yule Ball in three day's time."

The Great Hall exploded with excited whispers. Hermione groaned.

"Attention!" called the Headmistress sternly, clapping her hands. "There is a more important reason for this event, and one that I hope the older of you will take advantage of. The Ministry has yet to repeal its surveillance programs, and a number of you have had appointments with the Department of Deflorestation that were missed, it being the middle of the school year. The night of the Ball, I hope, will be a night of mingling not just with the other houses but also with members of the public. If you do not wish to take advantage of the Ministry program, I highly encourage all of you to get to know one another a bit better. That is all."

Professor Flitwick stood, beatific smile on his tired face. "To make things a bit more interesting," he squeaked, "all attendants will be required to disguise their identities. I will be happy to assist any and all with their costumes."

Several girls squealed with excitement.

"For those of you with –er- significant others who are not Hogwarts students," added Professor Sprout, "public tickets will be on sale this evening for ten galleons apiece. Proceeds will benefit St. Mungo's. In order to allow you ample time to prepare for the Ball, there will be no classes on Friday."

A great cheer went up from the students. Professor McGonagall raised her hand for silence and was universally ignored. "Attendance at the Ball is mandatory," she said. "That is all."

Classes that day were a joke. Professor Snape had not recovered from his altercation with Balfour Blane, so the Headmistress was still teaching Potions. Harry and Ron both destroyed their cauldrons, mostly because Ron was prattling about the kind of food that would probably be served at the Ball.

By Friday morning, Hermione was utterly sick of the Ball. The Gryffindor Common Room was filled with girls sticking sequins on things, adding last-minute touches to their costumes and chatting about hair and makeup. Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley stores were completely sold out of glass slippers, body glitter, tiaras, hair potions, feathered masks, and fairy wings. 

Even sensible Ginny had succumbed to a pair of precipitously high heels and shiny lip balm that she swore would stay in place no matter how much kissing she did. But, of course, that wasn't surprising. Ginny had someone to go with, as did Ron, who couldn't wait to appear in the Great Hall with Melinda Bobbin on his arm. His spirits weren't even dampened when Hermione pointed out that nobody would be able to recognize either of them.

Utterly disgusted with her friends and bored by their elaborate preparations, Hermione went to the base of the Astronomy Tower to chat with her painting friends. She particularly missed the handsome minstrel Alan a Dale, who made her laugh and always seemed to know when she was haunting his hallway.

"It's absurd," she complained to him. "We have so many more important things to do. I don't understand why we're suddenly focusing on frivolities like this Ball. The Headmistress must have gone mad."

"Well, lass, from what you've described of her, she's a bit of a tigress," said Alan a Dale, tuning his ever-present lyre. "I'll bet she has an ulterior motive of some sort."

Hermione thought hard. "If she has, it's for no reason I can fathom. It seemed clear to me that the Ball is meant to get all the virgins to loosen up, which is almost as bad as what the Ministry's doing. As if students needed an excuse," she said disapprovingly.

"Not unlike those that you brought to our camp," commented Alan. "Seems to me as if the beast with two backs stalks all of you budding adults, encouraged or not."

"I suppose," said Hermione, making a face. "It just seems so silly."

"Oh lass," said Alan kindly, "have you never been in love before?"

"I'm glad I haven't," said Hermione vehemently, "if it makes people act like fools."

"Some lucky man'll change your mind, mark my words," said Alan with a wink, and a strum at his lute. "And if he's really in love with you, he'll sing you something like this."

Alan began singing a song about a girl named Rosalind, and Hermione's thoughts drifted. She came back to herself when she realized that Alan's rhymes were not only bad, but deliberately so. Alan noticed her attention and began

_'Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,  
Such a nut is Rosalind."_

Hermione began to giggle.

_"He that sweetest rose will find  
Must find love's prick, and Rosalind."_

Hermione's laugh echoed down the empty corridor.

"I hoped you'd cease your moping long enough to listen to old Alan," he said.

"I'm not moping," said Hermione. "I'm just not anxious to put on a ridiculous costume, be subjected to my housemates' attempts at hair and makeup, and then sit by myself all evening because my friends are all dating and there's no one else worth dancing with."

"Is there no one who's caught your eye?"

"Nobody."

"How about somebody who makes you feel things keenly?"

She laughed. "Well, there's Professor Snape, but mostly, he just makes me want to throw things."

"And by 'things,' I presume you don't mean 'your arms around his neck.'"

"Unless strangling is involved, no." She sighed. "I wish I could bring you, Alan. It'd be much nicer that way."

"I'd take you if it were possible."

"It's not impossible. Smaug's lent me things that I've taken between Hogwarts and the portrait world."

"Perhaps, but unless you're willing to go to the gallery where ole' Blaney is now, there's nothing for it. Alas, there's no place that you can have everything you want." 

Hermione began to chuckle, but stopped abruptly. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'There's no place where you can get everything you want.'"

Hermione grinned at him. "If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, Alan, I think I may have found a solution."


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione ran down the corridor as fast as her feet could carry her until she came to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. She closed her eyes and thought as hard as she could, _I need to get into the portraits._

To her great relief, the door appeared and she slipped gratefully inside.

Inside the Room of Requirement, she found a wardrobe filled with dozens of gowns in every imaginable style and fabric, a fancy vanity with a lit mirror and all the cosmetics she could ever want, and rows upon rows of shoes. However, Hermione barely registered this- she was staring at a beautiful portrait of Merlin, from whose fingertips fireworks were shooting.

Her vision blurred with tears. She'd found a way back.

"Excuse me," she said to Merlin politely, "I was wondering if I might enter your portrait. I won't be staying for long, I'm going in search of a friend."

Merlin examined her over half-moon spectacles, and she felt as if she were standing before Headmaster Dumbledore. "Well, I suppose, as long as you promise not to get into any mischief."

"I have no interest in mischief," she said. "I only want to take my friend to a Ball tonight."

"Very well," said Merlin. "I am curious as to how you expect to enter."

"Just like this," said Hermione, and recited her poem.

Hermione leapt into Alan a Dale's arms, and he spun her around, laughing.

"It's so good to see you, lass!" he cried.

"I've missed you," she replied, grinning. "You look particularly dashing tonight," she said, admiring his green velvet tunic.

"Well, I am escorting the Falcon to the Ball," he said with a courtly bow. "But my dear, you can't attend the Ball dressed like that!"

"There were some dresses back in the Room of Requirement," she said. "I thought I'd use one of those."

"I think I might have a better solution. Try this on for size." Alan held up a white gown of fine lawn. It was simply cut and contained no adornments beyond the belled sleeves, which draped nearly to the ground.

Hermione ducked behind a bush and slipped the dress on. It fit like it had been made for her. "It's perfect. Where did it come from?"

"Marian said you could borrow it this evening."

"If I'm wearing this, what's Marian wearing tonight?"

"Robin," replied Alan with a grin. "A number of us have rather got into the mingling spirit that the Headmistress mentioned."

"Please tell me that's not what you expect, you great flirt," said Hermione. "I asked you strictly as a friend."

Alan roared with laughter. "What, d'ye think I'd go with you tonight if my fair Ellen hadn't given her blessing?"

"And exactly what will Ellen be doing tonight?"

"Lesson number one about a successful marriage," said Alan. "It's not based on questions. Come, lass. Let's get you ready."

_O Falcon fine, above us flying,_

No, really, Sir Gawain, it's beautiful, but I couldn't possibly take it."

"For quat gome so is gorde with this grene lace, while he hit hade hemely halched aboute, There is no hande under heven to hewe hym that myght, for he myght not be slayn for slyght upon erthe," said Gawain with ceremony, offering the green silk kirtle to her again.

The green knight patted Gawain's shoulder with a huge hand and gestured for her to take it.

"Go on lass," said Alan with a grin. "The color suits you."

"Really?"

"Aye, you should always wear green."

Hermione blushed and bowed to Sir Gawain. "Thank you, Sir Gawain," she said. "I'll have it back to you tomorrow morning."

_Alleviate our ceaseless sighing, _

"Smaug," said Hermione sternly. "I can't possibly wear all of these. I wouldn't be able to move to dance."

"But I have so many emeralds," wheedled Smaug. "I'll tell you what, you just take the ones set in platinum."

"The earrings, the necklace, and one bracelet, and that's final," said Hermione.

"But the whole effect is spoiled if you don't wear the tiara! What do you think, Alan?"

"I've never been to a Ball with the crown jewels of Gondor before."

"Fine, I'll wear the tiara," said Hermione, weary of haggling with the dragon.

Smaug looked very pleased with himself and leaned down to give Hermione a warm, sulfurous kiss on the cheek. "You'll look so lovely in them. I'm so glad I finally have the opportunity to dress someone. I never had a dragonet of my own, you know."

"You're too good to me, Smaug."

"Pshaw. That was the scratch to end all scratches you just gave me. Even if I never saw the jewels again, it'd be worth it."

_Set thy sword and scabbard down. _

If there was one thing to say for Alan a Dale, it's that he knew every woman in the portraits, and they would all do just about anything for him. Even Scheherazade paused in her tales for Sultan Schahriat to bid the sultan's courtesans to attend to Hermione.

She emerged from the steamy hamam squeaky clean, buffed, and with artfully smudged kohl lining her eyes. Alan whistled approvingly.

"Are ye ready, lass?"

"I feel like a piece of spaghetti," she replied with a contented sigh.

"Excellent!" said Alan. "No shoes tonight?"

"I'd rather not," said Hermione. "Women's shoes never have any traction. I'm not so good a dancer that I'd risk it."

"Ah, but I am," said Alan, spinning her. 

Thrown off balance, Hermione instinctively pulled away and dropped into en garde.

"Sorry," she said, coloring.

"I wouldn't have you any other way, lass," said Alan, tweaking her nose.

_Between thy wings and claws concealing, _

"I really don't know what you expect me to be able to do for her," said the lady with a flutter of her golden lashes. She raised a tress of Hermione's hair, extended it to its full length and let it bounce back.

"I'm sure you and your sister will come up with something," said Alan. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've had a pain in my leg, if your charming doctors can be persuaded to examine it."

"Yes, yes," said the lady absently. She clapped her pretty hands twice. "Dingo?"

"Yes, Zoot?" came another musical voice.

"Bring what you and the girls have been knitting today, and every comb you can lay your hands on."

"Yes, Zoot!"

_Beats thy heart, its strength revealing_

"Thank you very much, Master Merlin, for allowing us passage through your portrait," said Alan, seemingly perfectly at ease addressing the greatest wizard of all time.

"It's no trouble, my boy," said Merlin, who turned to Hermione. "Be sure you have him back no later than midnight. I am concerned about the ability of a complex oil-painted construct to exist outside for more than a few hours."

"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," said Alan. "Besides, the Green Knight had my head off once, and I just reappeared back in Sherwood Forest a moment later."

"Very well," said Merlin.

"Repeat after me, Alan."

_Merit worthy of renown. _

Hermione opened her eyes and was much relieved to find Alan standing beside her. She tentatively reached out and touched his arm.

"You're real," she breathed.

"As a fiddle," said Alan. His merry face fell. "Oh drat. I meant to bring my lute with me."

"Well, look," said Hermione, gesturing to the wall of the Room of Requirement, which contained a wide selection of stringed instruments. "Can you use one of these?"

"I could," said Alan, tone clearly indicating that he'd rather not.

"Let me get it for you," said Hermione. "I'll only be a moment."

"Nonsense, you're all prettied up," said Alan, making for Merlin's portrait. "It was my flufflebrain what made me forget it, I should be the one to fetch it."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," chimed in Merlin, fingertips glowing red for emphasis. "By my calculations, the stability of an oil construct will significantly decrease in direct proportion to the frequency in which said construct crosses the threshold of the frame."

"What?" asked Alan.

"He says jumping back and forth is bad for you," translated Hermione.

"Please, Alan. You've been so good to me already. Let me do this for you."

Alan considered her. "Very well, but take this with you." He offered her a sword that Hermione swore hadn't been there before. "You never know who you'll meet."

She took the weapon. "I'll be back before you know it."

Alan was perusing the array of music books on the shelves. "Take your time," he said absently.

For the first time in her adventures in the portraits, Hermione had to admit she was lost. She knew she'd made a wrong turn at the Faerie Queen's portrait, but now she was in an empty portrait with no idea of where to go, and she was furious with herself. She had gotten Alan a Dale's lute with no trouble, but had foolishly decided to visit Snow White and Rose Red, whose portrait she'd only visited once before.

Having ventured into the portraits without her copy of _Hogwarts: An Art History_, she was feeling utterly foolish. There was no one useful to ask, at least, no one that she could understand, and she wasn't keen to run through the London fire again. She didn't want to think what her hair would have looked like had Zoot and Dingo not fastened it so firmly to her head.

She steeled herself. There was nothing to do but keep moving. Eventually, something would look familiar, and she'd be able to find her way back to the Room of Requirement. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the darkness in the center of the portrait.

In the distance, she could make out a tiny point of light, which gradually widened into a broad light. The sound of hushed voices reached her ears. She came up behind a portly wizard, who shushed her emphatically and went on listening at the edge of his frame.

It didn't take her long to figure out why.

She'd arrived in the portrait of a former Headmaster, and he and all the other former Heads of Hogwarts were listening intently to a meeting of the Heads of House and the current Headmistress. Professor Snape was speaking, still in the register of a choirboy, but the others looked deadly serious. Professor Snape's clear treble carried easily to Hermione's portrait.

"-horrible Umbridge woman offered MacNair a sizeable bribe to see that Miss Granger was to be the next target."

Professor Sprout gasped. "She wouldn't."

"You saw her, Pomona," said Professor Flitwick, voice unusually grave. "And from what Severus has said, sacking Sibyl was the least of her crimes."

"If it was a crime at all," commented Professor Snape.

The Headmistress turned her snicker into a cough. "We've been through this already," she said, "and we all agreed that this was the best way to draw their attack. The greedy blackguards couldn't resist. Filius, you did sell them tickets, didn't you?"

"I did, and it was all I could do to keep from casting a Dysfunctus Charm on them."

"We applaud your restraint," said the Headmistress. "Pomona, have you erected your barrier?"

"Indeed, I have," she replied with a small smile. "A wall of thorns sixty feet high and twenty feet thick around the castle, even the towers. Nobody will enter tonight without our knowing of it."

"Excellent," said the Headmistress. "Filius, is the Enchanted Sleep Spell in place, should the unthinkable occur?"

"Of course," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "I set it even before spiking the punch bowls. It wasn't difficult to alter the spell from pricking one's finger to fingering one's-"

"Yes, yes. Well done," said the Headmistress. "Severus, is there anything else you can tell us about the men you expect this evening?"

"Malfoy will be the easiest to spot," he said. "He can't bear to conceal his hair for love or money. MacNair will probably have a long knife of some kind- it's his preferred weapon. The vital thing is that we watch Miss Granger like hawks." The baleful look at the Headmistress made Hermione gasp.

"Yes, your objections to the plan have been noted, Severus," said McGonagall tartly. "But if the girl saved you from the goblins, I suspect she'll be fine against a few out-of-shape dark wizards, especially given the number of powerful wizards and witches protecting her."

Professor Snape seemed to be considering additional comments, but he bowed his head. "As you see fit, Minerva."

"Good," she said, with a hint of a frown in the corners of her mouth. "Pomona, you and Filius will be stationed on either side of the entrance to the Great Hall. Be sure to inactivate any Portkeys that come through the door. Severus, you will mingle with the students. Stay as close to Miss Granger as necessary. I will be stationed next to the bandstand, appearing to keep an eye out for unsanctioned behavior. I will have your back, Severus." She looked at the other Heads. "Have you any questions before we take our places? Then let's be on our way. And Severus?"

He turned to face the Headmistress. "Try not to say anything. It'll exponentially increase your chances of remaining close to Miss Granger."

The other three left the office, leaving McGonagall to put the finishing touches on her costume. She removed her square glasses and put vivid blue streaks on her face with artful waves of her wand. She released her waist-length hair from its customary bun and teased it into disarray. She removed the wrinkles from her tartan sash and kilt and grabbed an enormous two-handed sword from the suit of armor on her back wall. Even her mien seemed altered, which would not be impossible, given the Headmistress's skill at Transfiguration.

The portraits on her walls stared at the transformation, and even the statue of Atlas on her desk lost his grip on the world, and it tumbled across her desk.

The Headmistress turned and looked at the statue, not unkindly. "You dropped your rock," she said as she swept out the door of her office.

Hermione watched her leave, mind in a whirl from what she'd overheard.

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked the gobsmacked wizard in the frame with her. "Can you please tell me the quickest way to the Charms section of the Library?"

"Oh!" he said, noticing her at last. "What the devil do you want to go there for?"

"I need to see a friend immediately. What's the best way?"

"Well, my portrait will put you on the wrong side of the Library," said the man. "I'd advise you to sneak through Armando Dippet. His portrait will drop you in the Dungeons, but going straight up from that portrait will put you right where you want to be."

"Perfect. Thank you very much for your help, Headmaster."

The polite address earned her a searching look. "What did you say your name was?"

"Hermione Granger, sir." To her dismay, the wizard began singing the song Alan a Dale had written about her.

"Granger? Really! How marvelous! O Falcon fine, oh something something, do something on our something sighing… Curses, what are those words?"

"I really couldn't say, sir," said Hermione. "Thank you for your help, sir. Goodbye!"

She clambered across the curious portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses until she came to Armando Dippet, who appeared to have slept through the meeting.

Not wishing to wake him, she slid to the back of his portrait and disappeared into the darkness.

"Took you long enough, lass!" chided Alan when Hermione finally reappeared in the Room of Requirement. "I'd begun to think I might have to send Cadogan after you!"

"I'm sorry, Alan, but there's been a change of plan. I overheard an interesting conversation."

"And here was I, working on a lovely descant for your song on sopranino," he said, pulling out a small wooden recorder. "I almost didn't need my lute. But since you've brought it, t'would be churlish to not play. Now tell me lass, what sort of conversation did you hear?"

"It was the Headmistress. You were right, she-" she paused. "Hold on a moment, what did you say you were working on?"

"A descant for your song on sopranino recorder," explained Alan, holding out the instrument for her examination.

"Sopranino," she repeated, eyes alight. "What are the names of the lower recorders?"

"There's the soprano, or descant, the treble, the tenor, the great basso, the contrabasso, the subcontrabasso, the sub-subcontrabaso, and the octa-contrabasso, but that's entirely too big for anyone to actually play. But what's all this about my being right?"

"Contrabasso," repeated Hermione. "That must be it. I'm sorry Alan, as I was saying, you were right. The Headmistress does have an ulterior motive. Tonight's Ball is a trap to catch the criminals behind the attacks on girls."

"A trap?" said Alan with a frown. "And all the girls are to be bait?"

"No," said Hermione. "Just me."

Alan gaped at her for a moment. "You cannot be serious, lass."

"Perfectly serious," said Hermione grimly. "They never would have told me, either. They would have let me go tonight without the slightest idea that I might be in danger."

"If that's true," said Alan solemnly, "then it speaks poorly of them all."

"I don't disagree," said Hermione, "and that's where my plan comes in."

"God save us from your brilliant ideas," said Alan, only half seriously. "What should we do, then?"


	10. Chapter 10

The band had only just begun to play, but every minute of the Ball felt like an eternity to Snape. Every peal of the herald trumpets produced another couple with the girl in an elaborate Christmas fairy princess elf costume and the young man in a black mask and dull suit. Soon, the Great Hall was flooded with winged, sparkling adolescent females and gobsmacked boys, struck dumb at the sight of all the glittering skin on display. The band was playing an odd mix of rock and polka, and the children were dancing up a storm. It was exactly what Minerva had wished.

Flitwick and Sprout were at the entrance taking tickets, and Snape was not at all surprised to see that the vast majority of the public were adult males, eager to consort with the nubile virgins at Hogwarts. Snape wasn't sure who was worse, those who were there at Umbridge's urging, or those who were there for their own purposes.

He was satisfied to see the Minster of Magic and Senior Undersecretary seated at tables specially raised to afford the best view of the proceedings. The Minister wore no costume, but Umbridge had abandoned her customary jumper for a gown of pink satin, which was tied awkwardly with matching pink ribbons. Snape tried not to look too closely and instead opted to scan the room again.

He heard a low whisper behind him. _"Contrabasso!"_

He spun around to find a woman in a lovely green gown standing behind him, accompanied by a knight in full armor. Her face was covered by a green satin mask and a fortune's worth of emeralds glittered at her throat and in her hair, but the thick plait down her back and dagger at her waist left no doubt as to her identity.

"Miss Granger," he said, shocked and delighted to find that his voice had returned to normal. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She gave him a half smile. "Merely to wish you a good evening and a pleasant Ball."

Snape snorted. "I'm hardly in danger of that."

"You never know," she said, eyes traveling audaciously from his head to his toes and back again. Her companion took her arm and began to escort her to the dance floor.

Arrogant chit. "Miss Granger?"

She turned to face him, blue eyes sparkling merrily. "Yes, sir?"

"You would do well to be on guard tonight," he said, moving his lips as little as possible, praying the Headmistress wasn't watching them. "There is more to this gathering than meets the eye. When the trap closes, be sure you're not caught in its teeth."

She stared at him in unflattering amazement for a moment, then covered it with a quick smile. "I'll be sure to do that, sir," she said at last. "As you can see," she said, tugging on the armored figure's elbow, "I am not helpless this evening."

"Yes. Usually, you're about as helpless as the Whomping Willow," he growled.

Her musical laughter lingered even as she walked away.

Snape's gaze followed her. There was something not quite right. And then it hit him. Miss Granger had brown eyes, not blue. He began elbowing his way through the crowd, seeking the woman in green and her silent companion.

"Any sight of them yet, Hermione?" asked Alan, when they had evaded Professor Snape.

"None," she said ruefully. "Not that I can see very well through this bloody thing."

"I suspect that's part of the point of a fancy dress function," said Alan philosophically. "If nobody can see, they're a lot less picky about their partners. Oh dear."

"What is it?"

"Your professor's figured something's amiss. He's headed toward us."

"Damn. What gave it away?" 

"I told you the silver would have suited me better than the green," pouted Alan.

"But the green suited me," said Hermione sternly, "and that's who you're supposed to be this evening."

"Well, no matter how he figured it out, it's time to face the music," said Alan with a sigh.

"I'd rather face Professor Snape," said Hermione. "Have you heard that nonsense they're playing up front?"

Alan's chuckle was interrupted by a hiss from Professor Snape, who had seized Alan's arm.

"All right, you imposter. Who are you, and what have you done with Miss Granger?"

"Do you mean physically, or only in my mind?" quipped Alan.

Sensing that Professor Snape was in no mood for jokes, Hermione lifted her visor slightly.

"He hasn't done anything with me," she said. "I'm right here."

He squinted at her suspiciously. "Then who's this?"

"It's Robin Hood's minstrel, Alan a Dale. He's a friend."

He looked from one to the other, frowning. "What on earth have you done to your voices?"

"Alan helped me figure out the counterspell to Balfour Blane's curse. We've found it's quite useful for disguises."

"Yes, I'd noticed that my sneer is what it once was," Professor Snape commented drily. "Which leads me to the question of why you are both in disguise."

"You said to beware of getting caught in the trap," said Hermione.

"It seems as if my warning was superfluous," he said darkly.

"Not at all," said Hermione with feeling. "It means we have one more person to fight alongside us when the time comes."

"What makes you think I'm amenable to doing any such thing?"

She gripped his forearm with a gauntleted hand. "You went to the Ministry and found out what was going on, and you told me what was happening. I won't forget that."

With that, Hermione swept her jewel-bedecked date off to the dance floor.

Snape retreated to the periphery of the crowd where he had an unobstructed view of the entire Hall. The dance floor was a mass of writhing adolescents, and the pheromones in the air were palpable. Alan and Granger were doing some type of folk dance, and the newcomers were mingling on the outside, attempting to catch the eyes of the girls who possessed the shapeliest legs and bosoms.

Suddenly, he spotted a cascade of cornsilk tresses out of the corner of his eye. Only a Malfoy could sport hair that immaculate. To his surprise, Malfoy had strapped himself into a high-necked but form-fitting gown covered from neck to toe in sparkling beads. Snape was shocked to realize that it was highly effective. If he hadn't previously seen that cruel smirk devoid of scarlet paint, he might have been taken in. Indeed, a number of Hogwarts boys were staring at Malfoy's tightly corseted figure, and one of the braver Ravenclaw lads had actually asked him to dance. Malfoy accepted with a throaty chuckle.

He spotted Theodore Nott in elaborate pirate garb by the punch bowl, attracting no small number of interested looks from the Hogwarts girls. He had yet to find MacNair, since a number of those dressed as men, Hermione and the Headmistress included, were sporting bladed weapons. He caught the Headmistress's eye and nodded toward Nott. She nodded in return, gripping the hilt of her sword so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

He turned his gaze to Flitwick and Sprout. Sprout noticed his anxious look and held up five fingers at Snape. He shook his head in disgust. Nott, Malfoy, MacNair and two others were there to take on a single teenaged girl. Still, he had to admit to himself that Miss Granger was hardly an average teenaged girl.

Alan a Dale's musical laugh rang out over the crowd as the music ended and Miss Granger lifted him over her head. All eyes turned to the couple in green and silver, and Nott grinned. He flicked his eyes in Malfoy's direction, who nodded. Snape managed to spot two of the other confederates, who were dressed in similar white flowing garments. Snape immediately identified them as siblings Amyctus and Alecto Carrow. He still saw no sign of MacNair.

When the music started again, the four Death Eaters began their inexorable journey toward the figure in green. As if sensing the danger, Hermione escorted Alan off the floor to the refreshment table.

Snape applauded her inwardly. Clever girl. The Death Eaters were forced to change course, and Snape was able to spot the fifth Death Eater, who was dressed as St. Nicholas. Snape could not see him clearly enough to identify him. Since the refreshment table was located directly under the Headmistress's watchful eye, Hermione and Alan were safe, for the time being. Snape seized his opportunity and whispered his findings in the Headmistress's ear.

She frowned, appearing even fiercer.

The back of his neck prickled, and he turned to find Hermione studying him with a curious mien. He walked over to her with his most disinterested expression firmly in place.

"What is it?"

"Hello to you, too." Her light baritone betrayed amusement.

"You were staring. One might think you were up to something."

"I was wondering if you'd found them all. I only found Malfoy and MacNair."

"Alecto and Amyctus are at six o'clock dressed in what appears to be burial shrouds, and there is a distinctly sinister Saint Nicholas at three o'clock. I strongly suspect that the bag he carries contains no candy or gingerbread."

"I think the Carrows are supposed to be angels," she said.

"Whatever they're supposed to be, the effect is ghastly."

"I suspect they waited too long to get their costumes. The Hogwarts girls are ruthless when it comes to getting their hands on flattering outfits, so I'm told."

"Where's your lovely lady?" Snape inquired with less venom than he intended.

"Gone to the ladies' room. Should I be worried?"

"Only if you expect to see him again tonight."

Hermione chuckled. "If I've lost the playboy of the western world, do you think I should ask Lucius Malfoy to dance?"

"Absolutely not!" said Snape angrily. "Do you think we organized this ridiculous event simply to have you throw yourself into danger?"

"I was joking, Professor," she said. The honorific made him start. He had half expected the friendly male voice to call him by his given name.

"Well, see that you don't," he snapped in response. "I'm in no mood this evening."

"You're in no mood ever," she retorted in an undertone.

Snape smirked in spite of himself. "You might find yourself surprised one day," he said, the rejoinder springing unbidden to his lips. To cover his slip, he swept off in Minerva's direction.

He found himself face to face with Kris Kringle.

"Snape," said a familiar voice. "I expected you'd be haunting the dungeons tonight, since you've no opportunities here."

"MacNair," he sneered. "I'm here tonight because I tired of encountering vermin in the dungeons. However, it seems as if I am destined to be plagued by cockroaches tonight."

MacNair's wand was clenched tightly in his fist, but he did not respond.

"Why, Walden!" exclaimed Snape with false admiration. "You've learned self-control! Don't tell me you're here in search of impressing some young lady with your gentility!"

"Hardly. I'm here to impress them with my genitalia," said MacNair with a lecherous grin. "There's nothing like a girl who's never had a real man before. Not that you would know, Snape."

Snape ignored the sudden chill he felt. "What are you blathering about?"

MacNair pulled out a piece of parchment with a list of names. "I've made a list and checked it twice," he said, stroking his white beard. "And it seems that you're in my 'naughty' column. That means you better watch out."

Snape refused to honor this statement with emotion of any sort. "I don't believe that Santa Claus or any of his helpers are capable of coming, to town or otherwise," he said with a sneer. "Try chatting up someone who hasn't witnessed you in action, or rather, your inaction."

MacNair only smirked. "Oh, I plan to, Snape. I plan to." He slithered into the mass of bodies on the dance floor.

Snape grinned inwardly. The idiot had brought the handwritten list that Dolores Umbridge had given him. If they could manage to keep MacNair and his co-conspirators from disappearing, they would have not only the serial rapists, but also concrete evidence implicating the Senior Undersecretary. However, great delicacy was required if the operation was to be successful.

He glanced over to the refreshment table, where Miss Granger was unsuccessfully drinking punch through a vent in her helm, to her date's great amusement. The band was coming back from its break, and Snape felt his shoulders tense. It was time for action.

As if sensing his thoughts, Hermione glanced in his direction and nodded. She held out her arm to Alan and led him to the very center of the dance floor. The band struck up some semblance of a waltz, and the dance began.

As Alan and Hermione whirled around the floor, the five Death Eaters moved inward, the Carrows together, Malfoy with a lovestruck Hufflepuff, and Nott with an enthusiastic sixth year. MacNair had disappeared again. It didn't help that his red velvet costume blended perfectly with the swaths of fabric lining the Great Hall.

Alan's head was thrown back with seemingly reckless abandon, but Snape could clearly see Hermione assume the fighting stance that he'd seen her take before attacking the goblins with two weapons. Alan whirled around her, green dress flying, making it appear as if Hermione's position were part of their dance.

Suddenly, Alecto and Amyctus appeared on either side of Alan.

Nott stepped between them and said to Alan, "May I cut in?"

Before Hermione could respond, Malfoy seized her arm. "I've been waiting for a dance with you all evening, sir knight," he said in an unconvincing falsetto.

Alecto and Amyctus seized Alan's arms and began to drag him off the dance floor. He struggled prettily, and Snape smirked at the bard's act.

Hermione, however, flung Malfoy's hand from her arm. "Begone, strumpet!" she bellowed. "Fiends, what are you doing with my lady?"

Malfoy stepped back, startled by the short knight's violent reaction. "You insult me, sir!" he exclaimed. "I will not tolerate such words from a callow youth with not even a season's whiskers on his chin!"

The altercation was beginning to gather spectators, and the band had ceased playing.

"Save me!" cried Alan, in a player's cry that pierced the din around him.

Hermione drew her sword with one hand and brandished her wand with the other. "Release her, or feel the sting of my blade, if you're lucky. If you're unlucky, I shall curse you."

Malfoy drew his own wand. "My dear sir knight," he said in a patronizing tone. "Put that thing away before you harm yourself."

Snape could picture the fury that must have been etched on her face. She lunged at Malfoy, who leaped neatly out of her attack range.

"You see, my dear boy, that attack fell far short because you're neither as fast nor as accurate as a real swordsman would be."

"I wasn't aiming for you," said Hermione, her smirk audible in her voice.

As if to emphasize her statement, Malfoy's wand let out a tired spurt of sparks. Hermione had cleanly cut off the tip.

He stared at her incredulously. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Falcon," she growled.

"The Falcon," he repeated in the most mocking tone he could muster in the face of three feet of sharpened steel. "And what is such a bird to me?"

"Aurors!" came a shrill voice from above. "Arrest that man!" Dolores Umbridge was pointing her finger accusingly at Hermione.

"What are you on about?" yelled Alan, shaking his abductors on either arm. "I'm being kidnapped over here!"

"I've no interest in your little love games, Miss Granger," said Umbridge primly. "This man is an active resistor of Ministry policy, and he will be taken into custody."

"You may have no interest in an assault on one of my students," spat the Headmistress, "but I will have none of it. Unhand Miss Granger this instant!"

Alecto, Nott, and Amyctus looked at one another in confusion, unsure of what to do next.

Before realizing what was happening Snape felt a cold blade slide under his chin. MacNair.

"I think this visit from Saint Nicholas is over," said MacNair, pressing the blade to Snape's throat. "And if any of you fools cares a lick for this traitor's life, you'll let us go peacefully."

"Dolores!" whispered the Minister frantically. "I think these men are the rogue Death Eaters who've been attacking the girls! Isn't that Walden MacNair?"

"Shut your mouth," snarled Umbridge.

The Minister recoiled from her harsh tone, unable to find the words necessary to respond.

"That's what I thought," gloated MacNair, dragging Snape with him as he joined his comrades near the door. "Any of you move, this piece of dung gets what's coming to him."

"Walden, wait!" called Malfoy, still held at swordpoint. "What about me?"

"What about you?" asked MacNair. "Have fun with your new admirer." At last, he rejoined the Carrows and Nott and glared at the assembly, who were watching the proceedings in horrified fascination. "As for the rest of you ladies, your fancy costumes don't fool us. We know that beneath it all, you're all begging for it, and we'll find each and every one of you one day." With this ominous proclamation, MacNair reached out to his fellows and put a hand on Amyctus's halo. "So long, flobberworm brains!" called Alecto. They all grinned horribly, then closed their eyes in anticipation.

But nothing happened.

Nott was the first to open his eyes and realize that they were still in the Great Hall. "Oh, bugger," he breathed.

And then all hell broke loose.

Alan a Dale yanked his arms from his captors' grips with a triumphant yell. He pulled a set of daggers from sheaths concealed by his bell sleeves and slashed wickedly at the Carrows. They screeched as their white robes were spattered with their own blood.

Hermione chose this moment to slash at Lucius Malfoy from throat to foot. He shrieked as his dress fell away, revealing for all those assembled to see that he was wearing no knickers with his corset.

She left him attempting to shield his private parts from the furious young men who had sought his hand that evening. She shoved her way through the dense crowd to get over to Alan and Professor Snape.

The Headmistress was bellowing instructions from her podium and shooting Stunning Spells into the crowd at anyone who attempted to add to the chaos. The Minister looked on in mute horror, eyes darting back and forth between the bedlam and his furious Undersecretary, who was unsuccessfully attempting to undo the Headmistress's spells.

MacNair edged toward the main doors, but Snape was successfully slowing him down, though his neck suffered a number of shallow scrapes and nicks from the Death Eater's blade.

Hermione had reached Nott, whom she distracted with a dramatic flourish of her sword and promptly stunned with the wand in her left hand. When she had incapacitated Nott, she spun around, frantically seeking Professor Snape and MacNair. Frustrated, she lifted the visor of her helm to get a better look.

When she revealed her face, two things happened. Umbridge let out a shriek of rage, and MacNair tossed Snape aside. He pointed his sword at her, grinning ghoulishly.

"So, the chit thinks to oppose me," he remarked. "You should save yourself the trouble and come with me now. Unless you want to resist; I like that, too."

Hermione grinned fiercely and lowered her visor again. "So much talking," she remarked. "If you think you can touch me, you're welcome to try."

MacNair swung his sword hard from over his shoulder. Even in full armor, Hermione was able to step quickly out of the cut's path. He swung again, this time at the top of her head. She neatly sidestepped his blow. Finally, he swung his sword at hers, attempting to knock it out of her hand.

"Come now," she said scornfully. "Attacking a closed line?"

"Hold still, damn you," growled MacNair. He flung out his sword arm and charged at Hermione. She parried his flesche and neatly cut the fur cuff from his off sleeve.

"A palpable hit?" she asked, spinning the ermine circle on the tip of her blade.

MacNair spun around, breathing hard. He had neither inclination nor breath to respond verbally. Instead, he dropped into an obviously ill-practiced en garde and began advancing and retreating, playing the distance between himself and Hermione.

He lunged, and she parried him firmly. He was barely able to avoid her riposte, and in the process, lost his footing and tumbled to the ground.

She turned him over roughly with her foot and placed the point of her sword on his throat.

"Do you yield?"

MacNair glared at her. She stuck her blade against his face and yanked the false beard from his face.

"Do you yield?"

"Hermione, for the love of all that's holy," called Alan, exasperated. "Finish him and have done with it!"

Hermione raised her sword. "For the last time, do you yield?"

He spat at her feet. Hermione made a sudden slash across MacNair's abdomen. He cried out loudly, but quieted when he realized that Hermione had only incised his false belly. Goose feathers floated gently in the air.

"Petrificus Totalis! I hope you're allergic to goosedown."

She turned to find that Alan a Dale had knocked Amyctus unconscious and Professor Snape had Stunned Alecto. Relieved to find the situation under control, she turned to the Headmistress, who was holding Dolores Umbridge at the point of her enormous two-handed sword.

She raised her visor to scan the surroundings. Then Nott stabbed her from behind.

Snape saw the flash of metal a moment too late. He attempted to run to her, but tripped over Alecto and fell. As he struck the ground, he saw Hermione crumple to the ground, cutlass protruding from the space between her spaulder and cuirass.

Alan a Dale cried out and ran to her side. The crowd closed in around them, and he couldn't see her. Amid the chaos, he felt a rough wand tip press to the back of his neck.

"Petrificus Totalis!" He felt a burning sensation where the wand had touched him. His body stiffened. He lay face down on the floor immobile and unable to see anything but several pairs of feet standing in front of him. Strong hands grasped his ankles and dragged him out of the fray, nose knocking painfully against the seams in the stone floor. He caught whiff of floral perfume. Lucius.

He was yanked upright and propped against the wall behind a large swath of bunting. Malfoy pressed himself against Snape, fists grasping the front of his robes. Cold gray eyes stared at him from behind the mask, and his lipstick was smeared.

"Tonight, I wished to take satisfaction from one of my family's greatest enemies," Malfoy hissed in his ear. "However, there has been an unfortunate change of plans, and I'm forced to settle for you. Still, one virgin arse is very much like another, especially under Petrificus." For the second time in as many days, Snape's clothes were removed violently. However, this man meant business, and he was helpless to resist. Snape's shout for help emerged from his petrified throat as a strangled whimper.

"There, there, Severus," Malfoy purred, smoothing his hair back from his face. "It'll only hurt for ten, twenty minutes at most."

Snape closed his eyes, the only part of his body he could still control, and braced himself. Malfoy positioned himself against Snape's posterior, then all went black.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione's groan echoed in the unnatural silence in the Great Hall. Her side felt like it had been hit with a cricket bat, and she got to her feet painfully. She looked at her surroundings and gasped. Everyone in the Great Hall was lying on the ground, arms and necks at awkward angles, and fast asleep.

Something shifted at Hermione's side, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the hilt of a cutlass sticking out from an opening in her armor. Curious, she pulled the weapon out. It was bent oddly, as if it had been slammed into a stone wall.

After loosening the sidestrap on her cuirass, she examined what lay beneath. The cambric undershirt beneath her armor was cleanly cut, with only the tiniest amount of fraying. She shuddered. Nott's cutlass had been very sharp. It shouldn't have merely bruised her, it should have pierced her through the ribs. Why hadn't it? Hermione unbuckled the rest of her cuirass straps, hoping for a closer look at her shirt. She looked down at herself and began to laugh.

Sir Gawain's green kirtle. Alan had encouraged her to wear it beneath her armor so she would match his dress. She had completely forgotten the magical properties that tempted Gawain to keep the kirtle in the first place. Relieved beyond words, she strapped her armor back on and set her mind to figuring out what to do next.

Everyone in the Great Hall had been incapacitated. It seemed expedient to prevent any further unpleasantness by restraining those responsible for it. She located Nott immediately, disarmed him and conjured cables to bind him fast. She cast a quick Levicorpus and floated him to the bandstand. Pleased at the sight, she similarly bound Amyctus and Alecto Carrow and placed them on either side of Nott, taking care to collect their wands. She found Alan a Dale snoozing peacefully, knives still in hand. She adjusted him slightly so that he lay flat on the floor, in hopes that his neck would not be stiff when he awoke.

MacNair, still stiff from her Full Body Bind, was concealed beneath several revelers. He quickly joined his friends onstage. On an impulse, she added Umbridge to the pile, after rifling through her pockets for anything incriminating. All she found was a crystal inkwell, which Hermione assumed had been a Portkey before Professors Flitwick and Sprout disarmed it at the entrance to the Great Hall. Still, Hermione was not about to be reckless and hid the inkwell along with the Death Eaters' wands beneath the Headmistress's seat.

Now all she was missing was Malfoy. Suddenly, it occurred to her why everyone had fallen asleep. "The worst," as Professor McGonagall termed it, had nearly occurred to someone. Steeling herself for what she might find and which student or students might be involved, she raised her wand.

"_Accio Lucius Malfoy's mask!"_

She heard the mask strap snap, and her gaze jerked to a fabric bunting along the far wall. Malfoy's red satin domino came flying, tugging up the bunting from the wall and displaying an awful sight. Malfoy was slumped over Professor Snape. Horrified, she ran over to the two men and pulled Malfoy off her professor, tossing him viciously to the side. Professor Snape was leaning rigidly against the wall, trousers and underwear around his ankles.

Torn between admiring the view and preserving her Professor's dignity, she pulled up his trousers firmly and removed the Full Body Bind. He fell limply to the floor, still fast asleep. Reassured that he had come to no harm, she turned her attention to Malfoy, who lay on the floor. He appeared to be enjoying a lovely dream.

She pointed her wand at the hated face. "_Depilato!_" It was with great satisfaction that every hair on Malfoy's head, including his hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, fell to the floor in a spill of platinum blonde. She grinned. Lucius had an oddly shaped head. She floated his body to the bandstand and on an impulse set Malfoy's limp form on top of Umbridge.

After admiring her handiwork, she made her way to the Minister of Magic's seat. He sat slumped in his chair. She stood for a few moments, measuring the pompous arse she'd known in school against the rather lost-looking man before her. Losing his father had been hard on him, though she knew he would never admit it. He'd been clever to toss his hat into the political ring at that point, when public sympathy had been at its highest. But now, with public opinion turned against him and his absurd policies, what would he do? And more importantly, would anyone daft or ambitious enough to seek the office do a better job?

At that point, Hermione made a decision. Percy Weasley would remain Minister of Magic for as long as he chose. Short of claiming to have been under the Imperius Curse, he would take some of the blame for the Department of Deflorestation debacle. But if she could get him to mend his rift with Hogwarts, perhaps there might be hope for him.

She searched his robes for the speech that she knew would be there. She unrolled the scroll, frowning to see Dolores Umbridge's script on the page. She transfigured a quill from a discarded pair of butterfly wings, vanished the previous contents of the parchment, and began to scribble furiously.

When she had finished the Minister's speech and returned it to his pocket, she scanned the room again for any potential trouble. Now, to wake them all up.

She swept her wand in a wide arc. _"Finite Incantem!" _

Nothing happened. She frowned. _"Rennervate!"_

The soft breathing of the sleepers continued uninterrupted. Puzzled, she sat down next to the Minister and began to think. This charm was Professor Flitwick's, and was altered from the original Magical Sleep spell, which, she remembered from a footnote in _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes,_ had been a witch's revenge against a social slight. The book had neglected to provide the incantation, or any useful information about how to undo the spell.

Her eyebrows drew together, willing herself to remember everything Professor Flitwick had said about the spell. Something about fingertips and-

"Bloody hell!" she swore aloud.

It couldn't be the same spell. That would be ridiculous. But the more she thought about Professor Flitwick's sense of humor, the more sense it made. Lucius Malfoy was attempting to "prick" Professor Snape. Thus, Professor Snape had, with the rest of the castle, fallen into an enchanted sleep.

She supposed she could even understand why the spell had not affected her. As the knight in shining armor, she supposed that she would be the one to break the spell. Still, doubts ran through her mind as she picked her way across the Great Hall, and not just on whether or not she would be able to counter the spell. Well, if she closed her eyes and did it quickly, she might even be able to be across the room by the time he realized what had happened. That was probably the safest way to do it.

She looked down at her slumbering Professor, who looked as different from the willowy princess in the film as could be. He even managed to look disapproving in his sleep. She awkwardly lowered herself to her knees, leaned over her teacher, and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

She scrambled to her feet, anxious to be as far away from him as possible when his eyes opened. However, he and the others slumbered on. Hermione tentatively approached Professor Snape again. Perhaps the kiss on the forehead didn't count. Screwing up her face in distaste, she pressed her lips firmly against his. Again, she stood quickly to watch the results. Professor Snape's mouth twitched, but quickly fell back into somnolent stillness.

Hermione felt a rising sense of trepidation. Why hadn't her kiss worked? Fortunately, she had applied herself to childhood reading with the same vigor that she did her studies, and had several versions of the tale to go from.

In one non-Disney version of _Sleeping Beauty_, the rescuer had to be a prince. Hermione ruled out this stipulation because there were no magical princes, except for those related to Professor Snape's mother. The other common stipulation was that the princess had to sleep for a hundred years before being rescued. Hermione dismissed it similarly, because she believed Professor Flitwick to be more sensible than that. In a Russian version, the princess not only slept through the kiss but also the prince's amorous visits, only to be awoken nine months later when her newborn infant sucked the spindle splinter from her finger. Hermione dismissed that out of hand for a number of disturbing reasons, the least of which was that she was certain Malfoy hadn't had the opportunity to stick anything into Professor Snape before the spell was activated.

Other than those, the more sentimental version of the story required the rescuer to fall in love with the sleeper at first sight. She didn't really need to be in love with Professor Snape for it to work, did she? If so, a hundred years of enchanted sleep wouldn't be enough. Of course, having him silent for all that time would make him infinitely easier to love, but she still felt tears of frustration fill her eyes.

She looked at the man who lay before her, somehow managing to make her life difficult even while unconscious, and the events of the past few days finally hit her. Suddenly exhausted beyond words, she began to cry. She cried for all the girls who had been victims of the Death Eater's previous missions. She cried for Percy, too blind to see Umbridge's machinations for what they were. She cried for the danger she and Professor Snape had been in.

As quickly as they had started, her tears stopped, and she scrubbed them from her cheeks with her gloved hand. She studied the man who lay on the ground beside her. His hair was still lank and greasy and his nose was red from some ill usage, likely by Malfoy. But this was the man that Sophie turned to for safety and the man who had risked his life for them. This was a man who'd acquiesced to her pleas for help because he knew that it was the right thing to do. He was not beautiful and he was not kind, but he was a man worthy of her respect and gratitude.

With those thoughts firmly in mind, she leaned forward a third time. In her mind's eye, she pictured him fighting fearlessly but hopelessly through the Goblin Rebellion and fighting with lethal speed and cunning against Voldemort and his followers. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his, attempting to communicate her admiration and respect through the simple contact.

It wasn't love; not then. But it was enough.

When she withdrew from the kiss and opened her eyes, she found herself staring into the depths of Professor Snape's eyes. From such a close distance, it was easy to see from the tiny changes of expression his quick mind taking in what he saw, remembering what had happened, and concluding what needed to be done.

"Get off me, you little fool!" he hissed.

She could have kissed him again in relief. Instead she gave him a tiny smile and stood to check on the others.

The others were all stirring, blearily standing and helping their dates to their feet. Conversations began quietly, but soon the Great Hall was buzzing with questions about rogue Death Eaters and one furious Undersecretary stacked neatly on the bandstand.

"What is the meaning of this, McGonagall?" screeched Umbridge.

"I haven't the foggiest notion," replied the Headmistress, stretching her arms and shoulders- she had fallen asleep holding her greatsword. "Minister, can you explain why your second-in-command is tied up at the front of the Great Hall?"

The Minister shook his head.

"Would you like me to release her?"

The Minister shook his head again, finding his voice at last. "I think we had better find an explanation for this."

"An excellent idea," said McGonagall, without detectable irony.

Hermione caught Professor Snape's eye, and he stood beside her. "I can explain," they said in unison.

"Very well," said the Headmistress. "Minister, I propose a chat in my office. Severus, Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to join us?"

"You can't leave me here like this!" shouted Umbridge.

"Of course you're right," said McGonagall with a thin smile. "The band must have somewhere to play."

With a flick of her wand, the Headmistress levitated the five Death Eaters and Umbridge, trailing them after her like malevolent bubbles.

"It's a shame you didn't gag them," commented the Headmistress to Hermione in an undertone. "Enjoy the rest of the Ball," she announced to the assembled crowd. "I will see you all in classes on Monday. Good evening."

The band took this as their cue to begin playing, and the Headmistress shut the door behind them with a smile. "Well, Severus, I hope you have something truly impressive for me."

Remembering the sight she encountered under the bunting, Hermione grinned to herself.

So that brings us to the end of my poor story. Yes, that's really the end, for now at least.

What happened? You mean you're not satisfied with the ending?

Very well, I'll try to sum it up. Umbridge is rotting in Wizarding prison beside her retainers, wondering why she ever decided to face the Falcon a second time.

The Minister of Magic remains in office, though he now runs every law and statute by Headmistress McGonagall before announcing it. She finds it tiresome, but really can't complain.

The Falcon herself went on to receive record-high N.E.W.T.s, recently placed seventh in women's sabre at the Commonwealth Championships, and still occasionally visits her friends in the portrait world when she calls on the Headmistress.

Professor Snape returned to his usual routine teaching Potions. The only purported change is abnormally high house point totals, which leads some to speculate that he no longer stalks the halls at night as regularly as he once did.

Devilishly handsome Alan a Dale was returned safely to his portrait, where he advises the lovelorn, sings songs and tells tales to passing travelers much like yourself.  
I see that our number around the fire have increased by two. Welcome! You arrived just as I was finishing a Falcon tale. Oh, I see you know the story already. Friends, allow me to introduce the Falcon and her mate. Yes, I know you expected them to be taller.

There have been many stories of these two already, and the stories will continue long after they are gone. Perhaps one day I'll have the opportunity to learn them all, and perhaps one day tell them.

Some night when they're not around to correct me.

I must go- er- restring my lute.

Good night!

THE END

Acknowldgements:

Many thanks to my giftee, whose prompt inspired me to go places I'd never considered. I hope you enjoy the story, and thank you for giving me such fun to work with!

Long overdue thanks to Keladry Lupin, whose brilliant madness inspired the majority of my take on this story. It all started with her LiveJournal post about men that go from village to village deflowering virgins for a fee, and this story is the sordid result.

Enormous thanks to Mr. 42, my beta reader, who not only read this whole story twice in as many days, but also turned it into something that I like enough to repost!

In no particular order, here is a semi-complete list of my sources:

Severus's embarrassing brush with Arthurian romance contains lines stolen directly from "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," by an unknown Midieval midlands author. The knight's garbled speech is Old English, courtesy J.R.R. Tolkein (editor).

All the characters in the Merry Men's camp, including Alan a Dale, Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck, and Little John are all from the various Robin Hood legends. Robin was great fun to relocate to Loxley, AL. Alan a Dale is also loosely based on Roger Miller's singing rooster from Disney's version of "Robin Hood."

Alan a Dale's song about the Falcon is comprised of two songs. The verse is a folk song called "The Cuckoo," and the chorus is Shakespeare's "O Mistress Mine" from _Twelfth Night_. I also stole the Rosalind verses from Shakespeare's _As You Like It._

Hermione's arc was inspired by virgin warrior Britomart from Book III of Spenser's "The Faerie Queene." Unlike Britomart, Hermione gets the guy at the end.

Zoot and Dingo from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail has a brief appearance, but I've also used Zoot as a stand-in for the Faerie Queene's lusty Malecasta who tries to seduce Britomart, unaware that she's a woman.

The dragon is of course, the fearsome Smaug from J.R.R. Tolkein's "The Hobbit," and several of his lines have been appropriated for the sole enjoyment of its intended audience. There was also a cameo by C.S. Lewis's Narnian lamppost in the winter landscape that Severus had to slog across.

The passionate shepherd and the nymph mentioned are from Ralleigh's spoof of Marlowe's poem about the same couple.

The Garden of Eden is stolen in equal parts from the Bible and Milton's "Paradise Lost."

The Cone of Silence is borrowed from the television series "Get Smart."

The fox is from Aesop's fable, "Fox and the Grapes."

The cottage painting in Umbridge's office is Thomas Kinkaid's "Glory of Morning," with kittens added. Couldn't happen to a better painting.

St. Feullian's order was inspired by a Belgian ale of the same name that is made in a defunct monastery.


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